


Breathe Air Into My Lungs (Just let me die)

by snogboxandahalf



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Short Chapters, Slow Build, don't worry the major character death happens in the first like thousand words, emotional issues, it's PRETTY FUCKING SAD NOT GONNA LIE, parent death trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:51:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 24,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snogboxandahalf/pseuds/snogboxandahalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles loses his father in battle and Derek helps him through recovery</p><p> </p><p>(aka I read a thing about after Stiles's mom died and thought: "hey why don't I make it a million times more painful!")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'M REALLY SORRY ABOUT THIS OKAY. IT JUST CAME TO ME AND I HAD TO RUN WITH IT.
> 
> PLEASE DONT KILL ME
> 
> (Comments are appreciated)

“Stiles, stay in the car!” John shouts as he grabs his assault rifle and bulletproof vest. Stiles feels like a two year old. 

“Dad! I’m not going to stay here and you know it! It’s just a couple of fae, nothing we haven’t handled before.” Stiles protests, but his dad just shakes his head. 

“I’m sorry, but there are too many. You’re staying here, you might need to drive someone to the hospital in a hurry.” Without another word, John is off to the woods, just a shadow in the distance. 

Stiles, of course, tries the door. 

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” He mutters to himself, before looking around the small police car. Of _course_ his dad put the child locks on. 

By the time Stiles finds a crowbar, he’s already heard several screams through the half-open window. “Child locks my ass,” Stiles grumbles before ramming the crowbar forward into the window and recoiling back from the breaking fiberglass. He hits the window three more times before it shatters, allowing him to crawl through the opening. 

Armed with nothing but a crowbar, Stiles runs into the forest the way he’d seen his father go. Stiles crashes through the trees, knowing he’s not being subtle, and really not caring. The type of fae they’re dealing with are less sensitive to sound and smell, and honestly at this point Stiles is fueled by a mix of adrenaline and fear, because he could have sworn one of those screams sounded human. 

Stiles arrives at the scene of the fight and his first thought is, _holy shit, that’s a lot of pixies_. Although the creatures aren’t exactly pixies, they share similar qualities with them, such as their size, shape, and annoying personalities. 

Stiles isn’t totally sure what they’d done to piss off this particular group of fae but from what he could gather by the way most of them were going for Jackson was that a) it was something bad and b) Jackson had fucked up, and badly. But what else is new?

Although it looks like most of the werewolves were handling it pretty well, Stiles charges into battle with his crowbar and his terrifying battle cry of “DIE MOTHERFUCKERS!” 

Well, at least it got their attention. 

A horde of angry whatever-the-hell-they-were came flying at Stiles at approximately three hundred miles an hour, all angry and baring their razor sharp teeth as they yelled rather unsavory words right back at Stiles, many of which involved his mother. Who knew a pack of angry fae resembled high school boys so much?

“Bring it on,” Stiles grimaced and started swinging his crowbar, taking out the fae with large whacks of the metal. As the iron touched their skin, it burned red and steamed, and they fell to the ground, hissing. Well that was something Stiles didn’t see coming. 

After the first wave of fae were felled by the iron, the rest of them became far more wary of Stiles, dodging and weaving his iron rod of death. Although preoccupied, Stiles managed to yell out, “Iron burns them!” to the rest of the pack, smiling when he got various sounds of confirmation from the pack members. 

The battle was going really well, up until the leader showed up. She was approximately seven feet tall and carried an elven grace about her, but her eyes were pure red and Stiles could see the bloodlust simmering under the surface. When she spoke, it was like nails on a chalkboard. 

“How dare you! This is my clan, my people, and you’ve DESTROYED them! You shall pay! You shall all pay!” Her grating voice left the wolves clutching their ears on the ground, and it was soon only Stiles, John, and Allison left standing.

With a yell, Allison let loose a volley of arrows that, though they embedded themselves deep inside the woman’s chest, seemed to be more of nuisance than a threat. With a flick of her hand, the fae leader send Allison flying into a tree and there was a nasty crack as Allison’s body smacked into the thick trunk and she fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

For the first time, it occurred to Stiles that they may be dealing with something more than a simple leader of a horde of fae. Cautiously, he approached her.

“What’s your name?” John looked at him like he was crazy, but Stiles had a strange feeling that they may be dealing with forces unknown here, and he wasn’t about to further this battle if she was what he thought she was. 

“I am _Derritera_ , protector of the fae. And you have just caused an entire species to go nearly extinct! You must pay!” 

Stiles can only think of one word: _Fuck._ Of _course_ Jackson would go and get himself caught in the middle of a clan under a fucking _goddess’s_ protection. There’s no winning this fight. Stiles slowly puts his crowbar down on the leafy ground below them. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the wolves slowly recovering, and Scott crawling over to Allison to check her pulse. 

“O great and mighty Derritera, goddess and protector of the fae, we have done a true injustice to your people. Is there any way at all we can make it up to you, O high one?” Okay, so Stiles has no idea how to act around goddesses. Are you supposed to kneel? Stiles shakily gets down on one knee and looks up at the goddess’ ethereal yet terrifying face. 

“You took something I love. So I shall return the favor,” Derritera’s beautiful face morphs into a snarl when she reaches forward and grabs the Sheriff. “He is dear to you, no?” She tilts her head patronizingly, looking down at Stiles, who shoots up from his kneel immediately.

John struggles with all of his might, but it’s nothing compared to the goddess’s strength. “Please, let me go, please, he needs me, I’ll do anything, please,” John pleads with the goddess, who lets out a cruel, grating laugh. 

“Give him back!” Stiles’ voice is wavering and thin, with no authority. It’s the voice of a boy who can’t lose anyone else. 

The goddess smirks, her lips pulled back to reveal rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, not unlike that of a shark. “Why would I do that, when you’ve already taken my loves from me?” She bares her teeth over the struggling Sheriff’s neck, and Stiles finds himself unable to move. 

John makes eye contact with Stiles, and manages to shout out, “STILES!” before her teeth sink into his neck and his eyes glaze over. 

As soon as John falls from Derritera’s grasp, Stiles can move again. He feels his heart drop to his stomach. “No, no, no, no, NO! DAD!” Stiles yells, holding his father’s body to his chest. Tears are tracing a hot path down his cheeks and the salty taste is filling his open mouth as he yells in agony. 

When he looks up from his father’s cold eyes, he sees the goddess walking away calmly, like she hadn’t just ended his world, and he feels suddenly filled with rage. 

“Derritera.” Stiles stands up, his voice suddenly strong. “Derritera. Face me.” 

The goddess turns around, her face a mask of beauty once again. “What could you possibly want, mortal?” When she talks, Stiles can see the glint of red in her teeth. His father’s _blood._

“I wanted to watch you die.” Stiles says, and all of a sudden he knows he has the power to do so. He stands straight and tall, and holds out a hand. Impossibly, a ball of black lightning appears above his outstretched palm. It crackles with energy and Stiles looks back up at Derritera. She looks scared, and Stiles relishes in it. He looks down at his father’s body once again before stepping over him and walking up to a fear-frozen Derritera. “I want you to beg for your life,” Stiles growls, and he can feel the power running through him. It’s dark and dangerous, and it pumps through his veins like blood.   
“I want you to beg for me to spare your life, just like he did. Tell me why you need to live, and I might spare you. Does someone depend on you? Does someone need you? Will anyone miss you when you’re gone?” Stiles taunts, his head tilting just like hers did. 

“P-p-please. Please. The fae, they need me. I have a family. I can’t leave them, I can’t,” Derritera pleads, and for a moment Stiles considers letting her go. But then he remembers. 

“He had a family too,” Stiles snarls, and he thrusts the black lightning into the goddess’ chest, watching as it runs up and down her body, standing perfectly still as she writhes in agony, her beautiful face forever marred by pain. Stiles watches as a bolt strikes her directly through the heart, watches as she cries out one last time, watches as she falls to the ground and dissolves into a pile of leaves and dust. Then he collapses. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of sad Stiles. As always. That's all you're gonna get out of this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iM SO SORRY ABT JOHN IT NEEDED TO BE DONE

Stiles comes to in an unfamiliar room. It’s not a hospital room, he knows that. The sharp smell of antiseptic is distinctly lacking and it’s far too dark to be a mostly-white hospital ward. 

He sits up and looks around, only to jump when he sees Derek of all people sitting in the corner of the room in an armchair, reading a book. Without looking up, Derek says,

“How’re you feeling?” 

Stiles doesn’t know how to answer. It was all sort of a blur. There was a goddess and a lot of pixie-fae and...and...

“DAD!” Stiles yells out, not ready to believe his memories. They _have_ to be fake, he _has_ to be alive, otherwise Stiles can’t go on. “DAD!”

Derek stands up from his chair, book forgotten. He crosses the room with swift and soundless steps and places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder softly. 

“Stiles, I’m really sorry. We did everything we could. It was just too late.” Derek’s voice is gentle, the opposite of how Stiles feels. As it all comes back, he remembers the goddess, the magic, he can feel the power coursing through his veins. 

He wonders if this is a side effect of grief or if it’s something else. 

Stiles feels hot tears running down his face, but he can’t wipe them away. His brain is working overtime, but it feels like the world is frozen. 

“What...what...how long have I been out?” That’s all Stiles can ask, because he doesn’t want to dwell on... _it._

Derek’s face softens. “About a week. We didn’t want to take you to the hospital because...” Derek trails off, but Stiles knows what he didn’t say. _We don’t know what you did._

“Thank you,” Stiles looks at his hands on top of the sheets, and they seem pale and translucent, like if he tried hard enough he could see through to the bones and blood and marrow. 

Stiles curls his hand into a fist and looks back up at Derek. 

“Do you think I could get a glass of water, please?” He asks, and Derek nods, his eyes still oddly soft. 

When Derek is gone, Stiles lets himself lie back down and close his eyes. His mind is racing, going through all the possible scenarios that could have happened, anything but the real thing. Stiles allows himself to wander into _what ifs_ and _if onlys._ He know’s it’s not right, but that’s never stopped him before. 

When his mother died, he and his father hadn’t spoken a word in the months that passed. They lived in their shell of a house where the air was suffocating and the silence was deafening. It was awful. Somehow, Stiles thought it couldn’t ever get worse than that. He was wrong. His father is gone. He has nobody. He’s alone. He’s an orphan. 

Suddenly, Stiles gasps for air, unable to breathe. _I’m alone I’m alone I’m alone I’m alone_. It’s running through his head, and Stiles can feel his chest closing up and his heartbeat fluttering and he thinks, _I could die_ , and he’s kind of okay with it when all of a sudden a rough hand is pressing itself into Stiles’ shoulder and shaking him, hard. 

He hears a harsh, “Breathe, goddammit, breathe!” before being shaken once again. It’s like the voice brought him back to reality, because Stiles soon finds his breaths coming shaky and uneven, but coming nonetheless. “God Stiles, you scared me!” 

Stiles looks up to see Derek standing above him, concern filling his multicolored eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I...” Stiles trails off and looks down at his hands, which no longer look translucent but still give the feeling of unease. He looks up again when Derek puts a hand on his arm and sits on the bed next to him.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” and Derek is being oddly gentle with him, which Stiles doesn’t necessarily understand, but he won’t protest. 

Without another word, Derek stands up and retrieves the water from the dresser he first placed it on when he came in. Slowly, as though moving too fast might hurt Stiles, Derek gives him the glass and retreats back to his chair while he drinks it. 

“If you need anything, I’m right here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fake-taylorswift.tumblr.com
> 
> OR
> 
> fxckingsterek.tumblr.com --- sterek fanart blog


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 367 words. I don't. 
> 
> When I said short chapters I meant it. But, to be fair, it's just getting off the ground. 
> 
> (also this is being updated hella fast bc I wrote like 5 chapters over the last like hour because SHIT THIS IS A GOOD IDEA)

Stiles isn’t sure how much time passes. It all blends together into a blur of sleeping and vivid, horrible dreams and waking up in the middle of the night screaming his heart out as he feels that power coursing through his veins. 

The others come to visit, of course. Scott is there almost every day after he wakes up, then Allison, then Isaac and Kira and even Lydia and Jackson. Danny comes, too, with a bouquet of flowers that Stiles lets out a dry laugh about. But he knows there’s something different. They’re tiptoeing around him for more than the obvious reasons. Yes, his dad died, but that’s not it. There’s something...different.

About three weeks after _it_ happens, Stiles decides he can face his house. He isn’t ready to let it go just yet, and as a capable eighteen year old he should be able to go _home_. 

He tells Derek all this, and at the end of his speech Derek responds with a simple, “Okay.” 

Stiles is almost surprised at how easy it is. Derek drives him back home in the Camaro and walks him back up to his room. Stiles knows that Derek can smell the fear, the anxiety, and the sadness that’s no doubt rolling off his body in waves. Just as Derek turns to go, Stiles opens his mouth to speak.

“Derek...is there any way...do you think maybe we could talk, sometime?” Stiles’ voice is timid and he fidgets with the oversize t-shirt of Derek’s that he’s claimed as his own. 

A small smile graces the werewolf’s face. “Of course. I know a thing or two about grief myself, after all.” 

With the nod of his head and a small half wave, Derek is out the door and not a minute later Stiles hears the Camaro starting up in the driveway.

He wonders what it must be like, to be able to joke about his pain. 

As he lies in bed that night, he stares up at the pencil holes in the ceiling and remembers how him and his dad used to have competitions to see which one stayed in the longest. 

Stiles doesn’t sleep, those first few nights. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fake-taylorswift.tumblr.com
> 
> OR
> 
> fxckingsterek.tumblr.com --- sterek fanart blog


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stiles is BROODY and derek is NICE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just
> 
> aghsdjkghewi
> 
> i upset myself

 

Actually, Stiles doesn’t sleep for the whole week. He stays up at night too scared to fall asleep because he doesn’t want to see it again. He doesn’t want to watch the light leave his father’s eyes as he falls to the ground. He doesn’t want to see the goddess’ terrible, cruel grin full of malice and spite. He can’t. Not again. So he doesn’t sleep. 

Stiles wonders if he’s going crazy sometimes. He hates the deafening silence that crushes him with its weight when he wanders the halls of his house. He fills it up with music, the TV, anything that will keep it from being quiet. He thinks he might be a little insane when he looks in the mirror and sees nothing staring back at him. 

It’s a week and a half after Stiles moved back home when Derek comes round. Derek actually knocks on the door and stands there sheepishly when Stiles opens the door with an eyebrow raised. 

Even though he hates silence, Stiles isn’t the first to talk. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.” The words sound wrong coming out of Derek’s mouth. Derek, who was slamming Stiles up against walls and glaring at him from across rooms. Derek, who has _killed_. 

“I’m not.” Stiles’ answer is short and harsh, and it’s like they’ve both done total one-eighties on their personalities.

Derek looks down at the floor then back up at Stiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I know. I didn’t want to leave you alone for so long. I know you don’t like silence, and it must be so quiet being here all alone, so...” Derek trails off and pointedly looks anywhere except for Stiles’ eyes while Stiles ponders _how the fuck Derek knew he doesn’t like silence_. 

“Come on, then.” Stiles hasn’t let down his shield, and he knows Derek has more than just information for him, but he doesn’t want to let someone in only to have them get hurt, too.

Derek follows Stiles into the small kitchen and awkwardly offers to help, only to have Stiles glare him down. This is new to Derek, having Stiles be the silent one. More often than not, every time he sees Stiles he’s full of snarky comments and quick wit and more words than Derek thought one person could possibly say in one breath. It’s a little sad, really, because Derek used to see some of himself in Stiles, from back before the fire. He remembered getting excited over first edition comic books and being able to recite every star wars movie from heart. But now Derek sees nothing in Stiles, not even a hint of excitement, and it _scares_ him. 

Derek doesn’t want him to lose his personality. Derek doesn’t want to see Stiles become _him_. 

“Stiles, I just want to help,” Derek tries again, and Stiles turns away from the stove where he’s cooking _pancakes_ , of all things, to face Derek. 

Stiles looks tired, his pale skin and dark circles dominating his face. “If you really wanted to help, you wouldn’t be here at all.” He turns back to the stove, almost mechanically, and Derek nearly loses it. 

“Listen to me, you need someone. I had Laura, and even then I was completely torn apart. You can’t do this alone––”

“Watch me!” Stiles yells, his voice echoing off the tiles. He whirls around to face Derek again. “I get that you lost your whole family. I understand. It’s hard, okay. But guess what? I’m _not you._ I don’t need someone to make sure that I’m okay. I’m just fine alone, actually. So I’d appreciate if it could _stay_ that way, thanks.” Stiles’ voice is harsh and biting, and Derek cowers away from the younger man. Still, he stands his ground. 

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m sorry you have to go through this. But remember, you don’t have to go at this alone.” With that said, Derek turns and walks out of the house, but not  before stopping and opening the curtains to let some daylight through. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DeReK pOv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAS DEREK
> 
> this is p sad not gonna lie
> 
> why do i do this to myself
> 
> (good question Jo)

Derek sits alone in his apartment that night with his head in his hands. He thinks over what Stiles had said to him. That first night, what feels like ages ago, when he was so scared and so fragile. But what about tonight? What had changed? 

As hard as it is, Derek thinks back to all those years ago, when there had first been that awful phone call. He had felt that sinking that told him _he knew_. He had known it was Kate when he heard the word “fire.” He had just _known_. 

 

_~*~_

 

_Derek sketched out a little wolf in the side of his notebook as his teacher droned on about something having to do with France, probably._

_“The French Revolution created a lot of fear and panic, partly due to the Reign of Terror. Derek Hale. Can you tell me who was the main influence of the Reign of Terror?”_

_Derek snapped his head up from his notebook to look at his teacher, the look on his face worthy of the name ‘deer in headlights.’_

_“Uh....Napoleon?” Derek guessed, and a chuckle went through the classroom._

_The teacher sneered down at him. “Nice to know you’re paying attention, Hale. Anyone else?” He was about to point to another student when there was a sharp knock on the door and a woman Derek recognized as the receptionist entered the room. She whispered something to the teacher that Derek didn’t bother listening to, then retreated from the room._

_“Hale, looks like it’s your lucky day. You get to leave class early. Take your books and go down to the office. And next time, pay attention.”_

_Derek, startled, closed his binder and left the classroom, heading across the building to the main office. Once outside the room, he closed his eyes and focused his hearing._

“Alright, call down Laura as well. Terrible, terrible thing. And to happen to such a nice family, too.” 

_Upon hearing this, Derek broke into a sprint and ran into the office at top speed, nearly running straight into the principal._

_“What is it? What’s happened?”_

_The principal looked down at Derek with a sadness in his eyes and Derek could feel his heart drop to his stomach. “I think it’s best if we wait for your sister, yeah? Come sit in my office, son.”_

_It took exactly fifty-three seconds for Laura to come bursting into the office much like Derek had, only this time she had been following Derek’s frantic heartbeat and scent of panic as opposed to an overheard conversation._

_The principal ushered Laura through to his office as well and gently closed the door before going to sit behind his desk._

_“I’m so, so sorry to be telling you this, but we just received word from the sheriff’s office. There was an accident. Your house caught fire and unfortunately your family was still inside. I’m sorry, but they’re gone.”_

_Derek stopped listening after the word_ fire _. He knew who it was. It was no accident. He turned to look at Laura, who had tears pouring down her cheeks. Derek lifted his hand up to his cheek to find tears running down his as well._

_All of a sudden, Derek felt bile rising up in his throat and he turned to the side and retched, vomiting into the trashcan next to the principal’s desk._

_It was all his fault._

 

_~*~_

 

Derek pants heavily, too late realizing that he had shifted and was tearing holes in his mattress. He quickly retracts his claws and stands up, suddenly unable to sit still. 

He feels it, he feels all of it. The guilt comes back in full force and all of a sudden it’s like he’s sixteen again and Kate Argent has him wrapped around her little finger. 

_“What’s the code, wolfie? Wanna be able to see you anytime.”_

_“When is everyone home? Don’t wanna get caught.”_

_“See you tomorrow, wolfie.”_

Derek can still hear her voice in his head, torturing him. He can still feel her words slipping into him like silk and embedding themselves like knives. 

Kate ruined him and took everything he loved, and he’ll never be able to get past it. He knows this. It will forever be a part of him, but Derek has come to peace with it. He wonders if he would have been able to do the same if it had happened now, when he knows so much more about how wrong it was. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> STILES IS JUST
> 
> MY LIL EMOTIONAL BABY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k y'all the last update for the night because SHIT I'm tired and i have to do all sorts of schoolwork tomorrow if i want a shot at going to a new years party

It takes Stiles three more days after Derek leaves to make himself leave the house. 

He tugs on his red hoodie over his Star Wars t-shirt and flannel pajama pants and grabs his keys, which were right where he’d left them, from the hook by the door. 

He takes his wallet too and drives robotically to the supermarket. He picks up his groceries and is heading out of the store when he glances up from the ground to see Scott standing in front of him, confused. 

“Dude, hey, how are you?” Scott asks him gently, and it sounds so far away, like he’s speaking through layers of glass. “Stiles, you okay?” Scott’s voice is full of concern, and for a moment, Stiles looks up at his best friend. 

“I’m fine.” His voice is emotionless, and for a moment Stiles flashes back to the Nogitsune that once possessed him. Except then there was too much happening in his body and now there’s nothing at all. 

Scott looks like he’s about to say more, but instead he just puts a hand on Stiles’s shoulder like “I understand,” but Stiles knows he doesn’t.

 

When Stiles gets home, he puts his keys back on the hook and unloads the groceries, then goes to sit on the couch. That’s when he notices it, a small, white, unassuming envelope sitting on the cluttered coffee table. With his name on it. 

He opens it to find a letter from his dad, and his chest tightens all over again. 

 

_Stiles, I don’t know why, but I have a feeling I won’t make it out of this one alive. Your mother used to tell me that my feelings were magic, but I never thought she was serious. Now, I think otherwise. Either way, every time I have one of these, it always happens. I knew your mother was dying, Stiles. I knew before we got the test results._

_Anyways, this isn’t to talk about your mother. This is to talk about my will. I never told you this, but your mother came from a very rich family, but they disowned her when they found out she was seeing someone who had barely even graduated high school and had no plans for college._

_Even with that, though, they set up a trust fund for you when you turn nineteen. I know that’s not until April, but I thought it was important for you to know. I was meaning to tell you._

_Anyways, I keep getting sidetracked. Back to the point. My will. I wrote one with my lawyer a ways back. It leaves everything to you, in case you’re wondering. But I wrote this letter not because I want you to give it to anyone, but because I want you to know. It’s in my closet, underneath that stack of romance novels you make fun of me for. In case you wanted it, but something tells me you won’t need it._

 

_I’m sorry, Stiles, that I can’t be there for you right now._

_I love you, and I always will,_

_Dad._

 

Stiles didn’t realise he was sobbing until he saw the wet spots smudge the familiar handwriting. He sat there for god knows how long, clutching the paper and letting himself cry, allowing himself this small pleasure. 

After what felt like hours, Stiles stood up. Then he decided to clean. His dad never liked a messy house, after all. 

 

Stiles cleaned for _hours_. Day turned into night and his watch beeped at midnight but he kept going. Stiles cleaned every room in the house. He got rid of old trash and flipped the couch cushions and washed the sheets and vacuumed the ceilings for spiderwebs. Once he was finally done, somewhere near one in the morning, he fell onto the sofa and immediately fell asleep, drifting off to somewhere that wasn’t hell but certainly wasn’t heaven, and for a couple of hours for the first time in weeks, Stiles was at peace. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles my lil baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CREEPERWOLF
> 
> also this is probs how updates will go from now on like max one or two a day because shittt there is a lot happening in my life rn

Stiles jerks awake when he hears the phone ringing off the hook, and while his head is fogged with sleep he reaches out for the phone.

“Hello?” 

_“Hello. Is this Mr. G. Stilinski?”_

“This is he.” Stiles slowly sits up, his mind clearing. 

_“I’m calling about your father, John Stilinski.”_

Stiles feels his heart jump to his throat. “He’s...he’s gone.” 

_“I’m from the Department of Civil Labour. We have just become aware of his passing and we have to notify the next of kin. As you know, your father had no siblings, so we need to discuss some arrangements with you. You have an appointment next Friday at three o’clock to meet with the city commissioner about your father’s pension.”_

Stiles’s mouth goes dry. “I...okay. I’ll be there.” 

Without another word, the far away voice hung up and left Stiles alone with his thoughts. 

Stiles sits on that couch for what could be hours or minutes, but all he knows is that at some point his phone buzzes in his pocket and he opens it up to find a text from Derek.

_From: Creeperwolf_

_Hey, was coming by to check on you when I heard the phone convo. Do you need to talk?_

 

Stiles should probably be upset, or weirded out, or _something_ that Derek was stalking him, but Stiles can’t really feel anything at all. Still, he supposes it can’t hurt. 

 

_To: Creeperwolf_

_Sure._

 

Not a minute after he sends the text, there’s a knock on the door. Stiles opens it to find a sheepish looking Derek (which is a first).

“Do you want to, uh, come in?” Stiles asks, but it’s a ruse and they both know it. 

Derek plays along, entering the house and following Stiles to the den, where they sit on the sofa together. 

“I know it’s hard.” Derek starts, and Stlies sits in silence, trying to listen. “I know it’s really fucking hard. It seems like your world is over but everyone else’s life just keeps on going. You feel like there’s nothing, no one, you can connect to.” 

Stiles, although he didn’t initially think he would believe anything Derek said, slowly nodded. “I just feel so alone,” Stiles confesses, and it’s like a weight is lifted off his chest. 

“I understand.” 

After a minute of silence that Stiles uses to collect his thoughts, he opens his mouth. “Hey, Derek, do you think we could just pretend it didn’t happen, for a second? Like could we just put on a movie and eat junk food and pretend he has a late shift?”

Derek looks at Stiles for a moment, his eyes full of _something_ , and smiles a little. “Sure, we can do that. You know, it’s been a while since I’ve watched Star Wars.”

And so they do. They sit on the aging green sofa and throw popcorn at each other and even though it’s not the same it feels good, like a new beginning. And Stiles briefly wonders why it’s not Scott that’s here instead of Derek, but then he gets a handful of popcorn kernels thrown in his face and he forgets all about it. 

 

It’s good, Stiles thinks. It’s better.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok sorry this took so long there's been a shit ton happening lately. 
> 
> ALSO SPOILERS (ish) FOR THE NEW EPISODE:
> 
> ok ok i was not prepared for the sheriff to almost (?) die like bruh. Also lydia and Parrish?????   
> but anyways I'm only like five minutes in so who the fuck knows what happens. 
> 
> if the sheriff actually does die I'll update tomorrow with a GOOD CHAPTER. because i will steal all of jeff davis' shitty writing skills. (IM SORRY BUT WHERE THE FUCK DID DANNY GO
> 
> i have some emotions.

Derek’s there, sometimes. He’s there for Stiles, and it’s nice, when he is. But more often than not Stiles turns him away at the door and sits in his house for hours, day turning into night through the windows in the den. 

Stiles watches the days go by and he knows school is starting again soon. It’s only a matter of weeks before he’s going to be forced to walk the halls of Beacon Hills high school, his teachers giving him sympathetic glances and the students whispering about him behind his back. 

He already knows his father’s death has been the town gossip for weeks. They said it was an animal attack. Stiles saw it in the _Tribune_ that shows up at his door every day. He remembers the headline being so _loud_ and so _abrasive_ , and he remembers slamming the door shut and stumbling to the kitchen for a paper bag to breathe into. He remembers his heart pounding out of his chest and his vision fogging up with tears. He remembers those first few days, but he can barely bring himself to get up each morning.

Stiles doesn’t know what he wants. On some level, of course, he wants his dad back. But it’s more than that. He’s been slowly coming to grips with it, getting used to seeing the empty kitchen and being alone. He sort of wishes he could just dull it down to the pain of his mother’s death; there, but not as sharp and hot and fierce as his pain is right now. He thinks it might be better that he doesn’t think of his father coming back in case he starts to believe it. He would never be able to sleep again. 

 

Stiles isn’t sure when he decides it, or even if he does. But one day, he wakes up and tells himself that he needs to start living again. 

Stiles pushes aside his covers and gets out of bed. He walks to his bathroom and gets in the shower, turning the heat up to the max. He stands under the spray and lets the water run down his skin, and he feels alive for a while. 

He steps out of the shower with steam billowing out of the glass door and wraps a towel around his waist and wipes the fog off the mirror. He looks at his pale reflection staring back at him and it feels a little normal again, like he’s getting ready for school. 

Stiles dries his hair and gets dressed in fresh clothes before picking up his laundry basket and heading downstairs to the laundry room. Stiles sorts the laundry and puts his whites in the wash before grabbing his wallet and keys and heading to the store.

When he comes home with fresh groceries, he’s somehow not surprised to find Derek’s sleek Camaro sitting in the driveway with Derek leaning on the hood of the car.

Stiles isn’t in the mood to discuss it, so instead he just says, “While you’re here, feel like helping me carry any of these in?” Derek smiles a little and pushes off the car to grab some of the bags from Stiles’s trunk. 

When they get inside, Stiles starts to put away the groceries while Derek takes in the newly cleaned house.

“Something’s changed.”

“Observant.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just...you seem better,” Derek looks at Stiles like he’s never seen him before. 

“Please. Be more vague.” Stiles says, but it’s not mean. It’s more of that familiar teasing that Derek is used to, and it’s a little weird, maybe, but it’s more relieving than anything. 

Despite the obvious teasing nature, Derek responds seriously. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” 

The smell of sizzling sausages fills the house as Stiles begins to cook. “It’s what he would have wanted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all check out my sterek fanart blog: fxckingsterek.tumblr.com 
> 
> IT'S REALLY GOOD OK


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO YOU KNOW WHO WROTE CHAPTERS 9 AND 10 TODAY
> 
> THIS GIRL
> 
> also i have a really bad cold aND I WAS SUPPOSED TO SEE A REALLY CUTE PUPPY BUT I COULDNT SO 
> 
> idk rn I'm really emotional for no valid reason.

Stiles shouldn’t be surprised when Scott comes round. He really shouldn’t, considering they’ve been practically inseparable ever since the first day of preschool. And yet, when Stiles opens the door to see Scott holding a giant box that looks like chocolate, Stiles isn’t expecting it. 

What he was expecting might have been Derek, or it might have been the mailman delivering the book he bought off Amazon, or possibly even the entire druidic order waiting on his porch with pitchforks to persecute him for killing a Goddess and upsetting the balance. What he really, really wasn’t expecting was his best friend. 

“Uh, hey, could I come in?” for the first time in years, Scott can’t read his best friend’s face. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Stiles says, shaking off his shock and holding the door open in an invitation to Scott. With a nod of his head, Scott follows him into the kitchen and sets down the box. 

“How’ve you been?” Scott’s voice is stiff and awkward, like he doesn’t know what to say. To be fair, Stiles thinks, what _do_ you say?

“Better, I guess,” Stiles’s voice is just as stiff as Scott’s and it doesn’t make the air in the room any less thick.

“I just...uh...wanted to drop these off and, well, see how you’re doing, I guess.” Scott looks around guiltily because it feels wrong that this happened to Stiles, Stiles who’s always been there for him. It feels wrong that he can’t do the same for Stiles. 

“I’m not doing–” Stiles stops himself, “I’m doing okay, actually, considered everything that’s happened to me. I mean, I’m not possessed this time round, so I guess it’s not all that bad.” Stiles’s voice wavers while he tells the joke, but it seems to lighten the mood the way Scott laughs, and for a minute it’s like old times. But then they remember that the Sheriff is dead and the heavy silence settles over them like a blanket. 

But Stiles doesn’t want the silence anymore. So he grabs the box Scott put on the table and lifts it up, a little surprised by the weight. “C’mon Scotty, let’s take this chocolate and watch some movies.” 

It turns out that Scott brought over chocolate laced with vodka and while Scott can’t get drunk on just plain vodka Stiles sure can. 

Even though Stiles swore to himself that he wouldn’t let himself turn to alcohol, he allows Scott to put the candy out on the coffee table and by the end of both Captain Americas, he’s completely hammered. Stiles doesn’t think he’s been this drunk since Halloween last year, when he went to Lydia Martin’s party and ended up trying to kiss Danny, who had just raised an eyebrow and driven him home. 

Scott apparently laced a few of the candies with wolfsbane vodka because he was just as drunk as Stiles, with both of them giggling like middle schoolers and leaning on each other, and it’s really, really good. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they sleep in the same bed  
> I'm only a little not okay
> 
> yes, i get really excited about my own writing. don't judge me.
> 
> also i'm half asleep and totally congested rn so i can't tell you if this is good or really, really awful so...idk just read it and tell me

After Scott, it’s like a flood of people all eager to see Stiles. It’s sort of like they sent Scott on a test run, Stiles supposes. If he doesn’t die they’re all cleared for takeoff. 

In a way, it’s really nice. It’s nice to have the pack there. First, of course, is Scott, but after that Lydia and Allison come, then Danny and Jackson, and hell even Isaac, Boyd, and Erica showed. 

They all showed up on his doorstep one after another, like they had some kind of schedule planned out. Come to think of it, they probably had. 

Stiles supposes that’s why it sort of weird when Friday comes and there’s no one there. Of course, he told them not to come because of his appointment. But that doesn’t make it any easier when 2:15 rolls around and he starts getting dressed for his appointment at the Department of Civil Labour. 

It’s 2:30 and his keys are in his hand when there’s a knock on the door before he can reach the doorknob. 

When Stiles opens the door, he somehow isn’t surprised when Derek is standing there. 

“I just came by because....well...I know you have that appointment today, so I was thinking, if you didn’t want to go at it alone, I could come with you.” Something inside Stiles seems to snap, because suddenly he can’t bring himself to say no. 

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” Stiles spots Derek’s car in the driveway, but somehow he feels like he should drive. If for no reason other than his keys are already in his hand and he wants to keep some semblance of having his life together. 

Stiles drives in silence, with one hand on the wheel and the other running through his hair anxiously, his fingers tapping nervously against the leather in the car. 

Instinctually, Derek reaches out and puts his hand on Stiles’s shoulder, to calm him down. Almost immediately, Stiles lowers his hand back to the wheel. Derek smiles a little bit and slides his hand back off Stiles’s shoulder. 

 

The appointment goes about exactly as expected. The man sitting across from the pair is in a stiff suit that hasn’t been properly tailored, and his face looks like he works twelve hours a day in a funeral home.

He explains to Stiles and Derek that the Sheriff has a pension that will automatically go to Stiles’ future, and that there is a copy of his will at the City Commissioner’s office. It just states that everything he owns is to be given to Stiles, and all Stiles can think about is that note. 

Stiles completely zones out after he says the word, “Will,” too busy thinking about how his father would have hated this place to listen to what this guy is saying. He’s thankful for Derek, who will no doubt give him a brief and decisive summary later. 

Soon enough, it’s time to go and they’re all standing up. Derek shakes hands with the man while Stiles just kind of stands there, unable to think, unable to move.

All Stiles can think about is how, when life ends, it all just turns into numbers and facts, at that’s all there is to it. There’s nothing else, nothing beyond that. 

Derek drives home while Stiles sits in silence, and Derek can practically hear Stiles’s brain whirring. 

When they get back to Stiles’s place, Derek can’t bring himself to leave Stiles there alone. So he helps Sties up to his room and leaves the room to let Stiles get changed. 

Derek doesn’t mean for it to happen, he means to sleep on the couch, he really does, but instead when he goes to make sure Stiles is okay, Stiles mumbles “Stay” into the sheets and Derek just can’t resist. So, while acknowledging what a terrible person he is, Derek strips down to his boxers and t-shirt before climbing into bed behind Stiles and wrapping an arm around his torso.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yiKES

**Chapter 11**

 

The next morning, Stiles wakes up to Derek’s heavy arm circling his stomach and Derek’s breath hot on his neck. He scrambles out of the bed like it’s on fire, staring wide-eyed at Derek, asleep, in his bed. 

“Fucking hell,” Stiles breathes out to himself. He spots Derek’s jacket and jeans on the floor next to the bed, and he suddenly remembers what happened yesterday. He remembers telling Derek to stay, but he’s surprised he actually did. 

Stiles looks at Derek again, but he doesn’t have the heart to wake him up. He just...looks so peaceful, the ever-present scowl nonexistent and his face clear and calm. So, against his better judgement, Stiles goes downstairs and puts on the coffee. He checks the clock and is surprised to find that it’s almost ten o’clock in the morning. He hasn’t slept this much in weeks. 

It must have been the smell of coffee, but approximately four minutes later, Derek comes down the steps with one hand rubbing his bed-head and the other scratching his stomach. 

“Is that coffee?” Derek’s voice is low and growly and _fuck_ Stiles really shouldn’t think it’s hot but he _does_. Stiles just nods mutely, grabbing an extra mug from the cabinet. 

 

They’re both sitting at the kitchen table in thick silence, daring each other with their eyes to say something. It’s because of this tension that they both jump when there’s a knock on the door. 

Stiles rolls his eyes, heading over to the entryway and opening the door. “Holy shit Scott, it’s been one day, you can–” Stiles promptly forgets what he was going to say, because it’s not Scott at all. Rather ironically, it’s the entire druidic order with pitchforks. Or, rather, it’s Deaton and a tall woman holding a duffel bag with the symbol for the druidic order embroidered on it. 

Stiles’s internal monologue shouts every single curse word he knows. 

 

***

 

“Uh, come in.” Stiles’s throat is dry as he leads the pair into the living room, mentally praying that Derek has the good sense to put on some pants before Deaton and the druid spot him. 

Stiles, of course, has no such luck. Derek walks out in his t-shirt and boxers, holding a red and green coffee mug that says “Santa’s Little Helper” on it. 

“Stiles? What’s going on?” Derek’s face has settled back into its usual scowl as he takes in the scene of Deaton and the woman sitting on Stiles’s beaten up couch while Stiles stands in his plaid pajama pants and ratty tank top. 

“Ah, Mr. Hale. I’m glad that you’re here. I actually wanted to discuss something with you. Maybe come with me, to the other room?” Deaton stands from the couch and gives Derek a pointed look before walking to the kitchen, where Derek follows, leaving Stiles and the druid alone in the living room.

Stiles’s mouth suddenly feels very dry as he shifts his weight, waiting for the woman to talk.

“Stiles, I presume?” She says, and her voice is more than a little terrifying. 

“Y-yeah.” 

“You know why I’m here.” Her statement leaves no room for argument.

“I do.” Stiles is still _fucking terrified_ , but his voice begins to get stronger. 

“You killed an Æthereal. You killed a goddess. You’ve upset the balance in ways that no one ever has before. The world has been forever altered by your _inability_ to control your _magic.”_ For a moment, Stiles saw a flicker of the druid’s anger and although it should have maybe scared him, it only amplified his own rage.

“Hey, look, I did it out of _self-defense._ That goddess took an innocent life, took my _father’s_ life. What was I supposed to do, just sit by and let it happen?” Stiles feels like his bones are on fire, his skin crawling. The druid woman opens her mouth again, but Stiles isn’t done. “My father is _dead_. I am completely alone. I have nothing left. And she just fucking took the last thing I had in the whole world away from me. So yeah, I killed her. And yeah, I knew she was a goddess. But guess what? I don’t fucking care. Because she died with my _father’s_ blood in her mouth.”

Stiles’s eyes were clouded with tears and his voice was trembling. He looks at the druid woman again and is surprised to find a sort of softness in her eyes.

“Look, Stiles, I’m really sorry that this happened to you. You shouldn’t have to go through that at any age, especially not as young as you. But it’s vital that you listen to me. Because of the death of Derritera, more gods will come, and they will be more powerful, and more angry. It would be neglectful of us to not train you properly in order to prepare you for the danger that will come. So, I’m not here to reprimand you. I’m here to tell you that your training will begin soon. You have shown aptitude for incredible magic, believe it or not. Alan tells me that you called upon magic that you shouldn’t have been able to access when you killed that goddess. He told me he could _feel_ it. 

“Stiles, you have power in you that you aren’t able to control just yet, but overtime you will be trained and taught how to draw from the elements around you and I have faith that you could easily be one of the most powerful magic-users of your time.” 

Stiles takes a moment to process it all. Then he pauses. “You said magic-users. Not druids? What am I, if not a druid? A mage? A witch?” Stiles knows he’s being a little bit unreasonable, but he decides that he has the right to be.

“A Spark, Stiles, you’re a Spark.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a transition chapter so

Stiles’s first instinct is to run screaming from the room because this woman is surely certifiable. Thankfully, he goes with his second instinct (which admittedly isn’t much better). 

“Bullshit. There hasn’t been a Spark in over two hundred years. Don’t lie to me.” His voice is cold, and he knows Derek can sense his unease from the other room. 

“I’m not lying, Stiles. You are the first Spark in a hundred and eighty four years. Sparks are extremely rare, yes, but not impossible. We have reason to believe that your father possessed druid blood in his lineage and your mother was a direct descendant of the last Spark.” the woman’s face is unreadable, but Stiles still feels jittery and unpredictable. If his father had druid blood that would explain the feelings he was talking about in the letter. That could explain how he knew he was going to _die_ , Stiles thinks bitterly. 

“If that’s true, if I am a...if I’m a Spark, how am I supposed to protect myself from the shit that’s out there? I mean, it’s not like there’s another Spark to teach me.” Stiles laughs a little hysterically, running his hands through his hair. It’s not funny, it really isn’t, but Stiles can feel panic setting in and this is _really not good_. He knows the druid is talking but all he can hear is blood pumping in his ears and he can feel his throat seizing up, and he can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t feel, until–

“Hey, okay, Stiles, look at me,” Derek is suddenly there and suddenly Stiles has never been more grateful for Derek’s creepy ability to smell emotions. Stiles slowly becomes aware of a heavy hand resting on his cheek and the way that Derek’s face is literally four inches away from his. 

“I, yeah, I’m okay.” Stiles backs away from Derek, shaking off the temporary anxiety. “Hey, where did...” Stiles trails off as he realizes he never knew the woman’s name.

“They left.” Derek’s voice is tense and for a moment Stiles wants to reach out and put a comforting hand on his cheek, which is insane, because they aren’t _together_ , and hell, Stiles doesn’t even _like_ Derek like that. 

“Oh.” Stiles sinks down onto the creaking green sofa and stares ahead at the cluttered coffee table. 

“I heard what they said, and if it’s true, I don’t think you should worry. All of the Sparks through history have been extraordinarily powerful. They all wrote books on their findings in order to teach the next Spark. You’ll be safe.” Derek is trying to be reassuring, it’s obvious, but it’s really not helping. 

“Look, Derek, I get that you’re trying to help, but it’s _really_ not working. I’m the unofficial pack researcher, remember? It’s my job to know shit like this and...Derek, not a single Spark made it to their twentieth birthday, okay? Most of them died before nineteen, because as soon as they knew they were Sparks....” Stiles trailed off, but they were both thinking the same thing. _Sparks can be easily snuffed out._

“Listen to me, Stiles. Every one of those Sparks you read about? They were completely alone. You have a pack, alright? And you’ll have Deaton teaching you how to use your powers and me and Scott and Isaac and everyone will be right there with you to make sure that you come out okay. And hey, look at me.” Stiles had been focusing on his interlocked fingers while Derek spoke, but at his word Stiles looked up. “We will celebrate your twentieth birthday with Christmas cookies–yes, I know your birthday is in April– with Christmas cookies and with too much cake to feasibly eat. Alright?” Derek looks deep into Stiles’ eyes and Stiles finds himself nodding, agreeing to Derek’s silent pact. 

He takes a shaky breath. “Okay, yes, okay. We can do this.” Stiles breathes in slowly again, his chest loosening as his mind clears. 

“Alright then Derek, get me some more coffee. I think it’s about time we have a pack meeting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYYY KIDS!
> 
> okay so I do have the rest of the book loosely planned out, but I would absolutely love it if you guys would comment what you want to happen, because the details can always be changed and I'm totally open to suggestion! Also it's incredible to know that you're reading and I'm so glad you're enjoying this!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's pants are stupid and the pack really loves Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inseCURE STILES 
> 
> what is wrong with me
> 
> i've been listening to the Bleachers like exclusively and i think I'm in love

Derek puts his pants back on while they wait. Stiles had texted the others “911 at mine” and waited for the inevitable shitstorm that would follow. 

Stiles shifts uncomfortably, standing behind the couch while they wait for everyone to show up. He knows they need to talk about the way Derek stayed the night, but thankfully they hear the engine of a car in the driveway and they’re spared that particularly awful conversation for now.

Scott is, unsurprisingly, the first one to get there. Dressed in Superman pajama pants and a haphazardly thrown on hoodie, he pounds on the door frantically. “Stiles! Stiles, what is it??” Stiles snorts and opens the door. 

“Scott, you know that my 911s are never actually 911s.” If Scott is surprised to see Derek standing behind Stiles, he doesn’t show it. 

“Goddammit, Stiles. I ran over here so fast–” Scott cuts himself off when he sees the smile on Stiles’s face. “What.” 

“Superman, Scott? Seriously?’ Stiles chuckles and Scott rolls his eyes. 

“Am I actually supposed to be here or can I go back home?” 

“Nah, come on in. There is, actually, something important to say, but we need to wait until the rest of the pack is here. In the meantime, Superman is _so lame_.” It feels good to smile again, even if it’s a little shallow. Scott decides he can take one for the team and let Stiles make fun of his pajamas when he sees the light back in his best friend’s eyes. 

The rest of the pack shows up over the next half an hour, and everyone has a comment on Scott’s pants. (Stiles may have sent out a mass text). Once everyone is gathered, though, the light mood slowly dissipates. 

“Stiles, is there a reason we’re here?” Scott asks, and somehow he’s still gentle, even after being thoroughly teased by Erica and Lydia about his sleepwear taste. 

Stiles takes a deep breath and looks at Derek. Their eyes meet and it’s like Derek is telling him he can do this. Stiles breathes in again then opens his mouth. “There’s something...I found out something about myself that I need to tell you guys. All of you. And I just want to know that you’ll–you won’t change the way you look at me when you do.” Scott opens his mouth to talk, but Stiles presses on. “What this is...it’s dangerous you guys, and I don’t want you being mixed up in it if you don’t want to be. So I want you to know that if you want to leave, you can, and I won’t hold it against you.”

“Okay, you’re seriously freaking us out, Stiles, what is it.” Scott manages to say, and the entire pack is focused on Stiles. 

“I’m a Spark.” Stiles looks around at his friends and waits for them to realize what it means. He knows that when they do, they’ll be gone as soon as they can. 

“Yes, and?” Stiles blinks when Lydia’s voice breaks the silence. She’s inspecting her impeccable nails and her voice is as bored as if they were talking about something as mundane as geometry as opposed to Stiles’s possible death sentence. 

When Stiles doesn’t respond, Lydia huffs and rolls her eyes. “Are you telling me you seriously didn’t know? It was obvious from day one! Remember back when you made that barrier of mountain ash? You did it with _belief_ , dumbass. That’s the main tool of Sparks. I don’t see what the big deal is.” Lydia looks around at everyone like they’re total idiots. She rolls her eyes again and flops down across the love seat, her designer heels carefully held off of the old suede. 

Allison is the next to speak. “Stiles? Did you really think we would leave you? Why?” her voice is gentle, and her big brown eyes break Stiles’s heart. He can’t lie to her.

“It’s just...all the Sparks in history...they’ve all died young. I don’t want to bring that to you guys, it’s not fair. Where there’s a Spark, there’s a fire.” Stiles says bitterly, running a hand through his hair. 

The problem with werewolves is that they can smell emotions. So, naturally, as all of the werewolves in the room scented Stiles’s despair, their immediate response was to _make him the center of a giant group hug_. 

Even Derek joined in. 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update because I'm trash  
> I can't stop listening to indie   
> someone help me before I write a fic based on the song "family friend"   
> (it's really good you should listen to it)
> 
> but yes this chapter happens and if I write any more tonight it will be a miracle because all I want to do is fall into my bed and sleep forever. but I can't. thanks world. 
> 
> ALSO HEY SHOUTOUT:
> 
> MisterPickles has been the effin best with commenting and shit and wow thanks so much dude. so yeah I'm really glad you like it!

 

Three hours later, Erica and Boyd had taken over Stiles’s kitchen and were baking brownies, apparently, while Allison and Danny had just taken over from Lydia and Stiles in researching Sparks. 

Stiles was lying on the couch with an arm over his eyes while Derek called Deaton and Scott, Isaac, and Jackson lounged around in the living room. In the distance, Stiles can hear Derek cursing at Deaton over the phone, and Lydia’s (terrifying) voice saying “let him talk to me.” 

Stiles hates to say it, but it feels nice to have the house full again. There’s noise in every room, and there are two people laughing in the kitchen and it feels like it did all those years ago, when the scent of his mother’s perfume covered the house and there was always some old Frank Sinatra record playing. 

He thinks that maybe this is what family is supposed to be. 

That is, until Lydia shouts “HOLY FUCKING SHIT DEATON IF YOUR ASS ISN’T HERE IN THE NEXT TEN MINUTES YOU’D BETTER START PLANNING YOUR FUNERAL!” before promptly hanging up. 

Isaac groans loudly and rolls over on the floor, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like, “We could just go to him, you know.” only to receive a death glare from Lydia. 

“If that cryptic asshole of a vet thinks that we’re going to go to his creepy animal hospital of death, he’s insane. He will come to us like any respectable former emissary.” Lydia sniffs, and Jackson and Scott exchange looks that are equal parts terror and impressed.

Stiles pushes himself into a sitting position on the couch and rolls his eyes at the pack. “Look you guys, Deaton is sort of a dick, but he’s way better than anyone else we could get. It’s basically him or our crazy English teacher from hell so I’d stick to Deaton. Besides, he’s the only one that can actually help me control this and figure out how to make it to legal drinking age.” 

The grumbling pack falls silent as they wait for Deaton, but there’s the Vaccines playing in the background (courtesy of Danny) and there are brownies baking in the kitchen and it’s really not all that bad. 

When the doorbell rings, Stiles jumps, then rolls his eyes at the wolves’ superhearing. He opens the door to a very annoyed looking Deaton holding a black duffel bag with, unsurprisingly, the symbol of the druidic order on the front. 

“You know, you may want to go with a more subtle design on that bag. One that doesn’t scream ‘I’m part of a secret magic club!’” Stiles decides it’s best to go with sarcasm, because honestly that’s the best he can do and also it really seems to piss Deaton off. Which is good. 

Deaton shoots Stiles a _look_ , but doesn’t say anything, so Stiles counts it as a win. They all gather in the dining room, crowding around Stiles’s small wooden table. Deaton drops his bag on the table with a loud _thunk_ , breaking the thick silence (of course Danny shut his music, because it’s not as dramatic if there’s music). 

Then he sighs. “Stiles, if you want to learn how to do this, there can’t be a million werewolves breathing down your neck. If you want, _one_ of your pack may stay here. The rest have to go home, or at least out of hearing range. It will be impossible for you to focus knowing that so much pressure is on.” 

“Wow, that really lowers the pressure,” Stiles grumbles, but he turns to the pack. “You heard the man, everyone out.” The group starts filing out of the door, shooting dirty looks at Deaton. “Wait.” Everyone looks up, and Stiles swallows. The little Stiles inside his head is self-destructing. “Derek. Stay.” A look of complete surprise overtakes Derek’s features and Stiles lets himself enjoy it before he turns his head to look at Scott. 

The betrayal written on his best friend’s face soon washes away to something like forced joy, and Stiles feels bad. Because he loves Scott, he really does, but Derek just feels _right_ and it’s the first thing Stiles has been 100% sure of in a while. 

So Derek stays, and Deaton unzips his duffel.

“I think it’s time to start the lessons, then.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YESSSSS  
> THINGS HAPPEN  
> IN THIS CHAPTER  
> I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL  
> NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT  
> I'VE LISTENED TO TEXT ME IN THE MORNING BY NEON TREES APPROXIMATELY 300 TIMES  
> ALRIGHT

Magic lessons with Deaton are more boring than Stiles thought possible. He comes to the house every day and they sit and do the same thing over and over. Sometimes Derek is there, sometimes not. (Sometimes they go out for brunch first, sometimes not.)

In Deaton’s bag o’ magic tricks, as Stiles liked to call it, there is nothing more than some candles and a chess board. 

It’s been a few weeks since that first day, and every single day Stiles sits and focuses on a chess board and tries to move one damn piece. It never works. Occasionally, they switch it up and he tries to light a candle. That never works either. 

Stiles sits and _focuses_ for what feels like forever, and it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. He relaxes his mind and focuses on the king, no, the queen, no a pawn. A pawn will be the easiest to move. He picks the one closest to the left edge of the board and begins _focusing_. He ignores the way Derek stands in the corner of the room, a silent observer. He ignores the way Deaton sits at the table with his hands folded like some kind of Bond villain. He focuses on the wooden chess piece, the unimportant pawn, and _pushes_ with his mind. And nothing happens. 

After four hours of it on one particular day, sweat is dripping down Stiles’s forehead and his eyes burn from looking at the same place for so long. Derek shifts in the corner of the room and what was left of Stiles’s concentration breaks. He looks up from the chess board to see that Deaton is watching him intently and Derek is still in the corner with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“I can’t get it. It’s hopeless.” Stiles feels like he’s back in AP Chem with Harris and he can’t figure out shit, but this time he doesn’t have Lydia to explain it to him. 

Deaton shakes his head and begins cleaning up the chess board. “It’s not that you can’t get it, it’s that you need to _focus_ more.” 

And there’s that word again, _focus_. There’s something wrong with it. Stiles hears the faraway click of the door and he knows Deaton has left, that it’s just him and Derek. 

He thinks of all the doctors in white coats telling him to _just focus_. He thinks of the teachers that used to say that he was a good kid, smart, but if only he could _focus._ He remembers the first time he took his Adderall, back in seventh grade. _This will help you focus, Stiles_. 

Then it clicks. He was ten, and it was in the starch white of a hospital room. 

“Stiles, don’t try to focus on the little things,” his mother had said, her voice thin and weak. “Make sure you take in every little detail.” 

Suddenly, Stiles jumps up. “I have it!” Derek, still standing in the room, jumped. “I have it! I know what I need to do! Derek, grab me that candle from over there!” Stiles waves his hand in the general direction of the fireplace mantle, but luckily Derek knows what he’s gesturing to. 

Derek places the candle in front of Stiles and steps back, curious to see what happens. 

Stiles closes his eyes and pictures the bulletin board in his room, covered in pictures and string and little snippets of newspapers from 1998. As he looks at it, he imagines the pictures and clippings changed until the topic is this candle, the way it just _won’t light_. Then, Stiles imagines himself walking forward and connecting green strings to just the right articles and photographs. As his figure steps back from the board, his mother’s words echo through his mind. _Make sure you take in every little detail_. He feels himself dipping into something deep inside him and power comes surging through his veins. 

Stiles opens his eyes when he feels heat on his hands and _holy fucking shit._ He didn’t just do it, he set the entire candle on fire, wax and all. Which Stiles’s common sense tells him is _impossible._ Stiles doesn’t have any time to spend celebrating that he found his inner magic, because there’s a real chance that the house could catch fire and last Stiles checked that was _not good_. 

Derek bursts into the room (when did he leave?) with a towel in hand, and Stiles grabs it, immediately throwing it over the candle in an attempt to quench the flames. But, instead of stopping the fire, or even spreading it, the fire just burned bright underneath the fabric like a flashlight. Stiles slowly removed the towel to reveal the candle, still completely in flames, but otherwise unharmed. 

Stiles and Derek share equally confused expressions, but somehow Stiles knows how to fix it. He closes his eyes again and reaches back into that place that he found. He picks up a pair of scissors and cuts one of the green strings, and automatically all of the other yarn on the board turns red, and the heat by his hands disappears. When he opens his eyes, it’s like the candle was never lit. 

And that’s when he celebrates. 

“HOLY SHIT DEREK. DEREK DID YOU SEE THAT????” Stiles’s heart is racing with adrenaline and his eyes are the size of dinner plates. “I LIT THAT CANDLE. ON _FIRE_. ON _FIRE,_ DEREK!” Stiles makes a noise that doesn’t sound human as he jumps up and down. When he looks over at Derek, Stiles sees that he’s smiling, really _smiling_ , like he did that one time a year ago when Stiles got him a Bleachers CD for his birthday. 

Derek walks up to Stiles, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers into Stiles’s ear and it feels like it should mean something, but Stiles can’t think about that now. Because right now all he can focus on is the adrenaline running through his veins and how _perfect_ Derek feels around him without a single thought, Stiles leans forward and presses his lips to Derek’s. 

It’s soft and warm and perfect, and when they part Stiles’s internal monologue is shrieking every single swear word in the book, because Derek looks like he never wants to see Stiles again and that was _so_ not the reaction he was going for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yES IT HAPPENED
> 
> THERE WILL BE SO MUCH ANGST NEXT CHAPTER IM SO HAPPY


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a filler chapter...sort of. I really don't know what this is.
> 
> I'm in a really romantic mood because I JUST LISTENED TO THE ENTIRE SOUTH PACIFIC SOUNDTRACK but as I was writing the end of this chapter Cable died and I really don't know how to feel. 
> 
> Hence, this chapter is all over the place.

Stiles is alone in the house before he can say “sorry.” Derek’s eyes seem to take in his swollen lips, his wide eyes, and he just _runs_. Stiles hears the door slam shut and he sighs.

The first thing he does is call Scott. “Scott, I’m really, really sorry for this but I need you here like _right now_ because I’m kind of freaking out.” Stiles says, and his voice is bordering on hysteria. “On second thought, get Lydia too.” 

“Stiles? What’s happening?” Scott sounds worried, but Stiles _really_ can’t think about that right now. 

“Just...get here, and quickly.” 

 

Stiles spends the next fifteen minutes pacing and wringing his hands until he hears a sharp knock on the door. He swings it open to find Lydia and Scott standing on the porch, somehow managing to look more worried than Stiles feels. 

They follow him into the living room and sit around the table. 

“What’s going on, Stiles?” Lydia’s the first to talk, her voice gentle. 

“Look, I know that this is like, nothing, because of everything going on, but I need to talk about this. So, here goes.” Stiles looks up at the others before continuing. “I kissed Derek.” He glances up at his friends, who both have incredibly confused expressions on their face. Scott opens his mouth, but Stiles continues. “There’s more. I kissed him, and he fucking sprinted out the door.” 

Stiles is focused on his hands, but he looks up at the sound of Lydia’s voice. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

So Stiles does. He tells them all about the magic lessons and how he’s done _nothing_ these last few weeks, but then it worked, impossibly, and Derek was there and how, well, he couldn’t help himself. So then they kissed and if Stiles hadn’t just _lit a candle with his mind_ he’d have said it was the most magical thing that’d ever happened to him. But then he opened his eyes and it was like Derek was never there at all, save for the tingling feeling left on his lips.

Stiles finishes his story and his friends sit there in shock. Of course, with his ever-bad timing, Scott’s jaw drops. “You made an entire candle light on fire? WITHOUT BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE?” Lydia kicks him under the table and Stiles winces in sympathy at the loud smack that it makes. “I mean, aw shit man, that really sucks about Derek.” 

Stiles smiles a little, shaking his head. “Look, I know in the grand scheme of things it’s been a pretty good day. I mean, I found my magic, right?” His voice is hollow and his throat feels like closing up. 

Lydia reaches out and puts a hand over his. “Listen to me, it’s okay to be sad about this. Derek was a real douche about this.” Stiles shoots Lydia a grateful look, and she glances over at Scott. “You know what this calls for? Comfort food. Now, I know that you don’t have much in the house, so Scott why don’t you go out and get...” Lydia looks expectantly and Stiles, who looks up at Scott with wide eyes. 

“Dude, Mars bars and Tostitos.” Scott nods and stands up, saluting to Stiles and earning a watery laugh in return. Stiles turns back to Lydia, who has a look on her face that _cannot_ mean good news. 

“Alright, you know what we’re going to do? We’re going to work on your magic. Because any time something like this happens to me–” Stiles snorts, and Lydia glares at him, “–it _does_ happen to me, I’ll have you know, I like to be ten times better than the asshole that did it to me. And with your magical aptitude, I know you can be. So I’m going to get that candle, and this time you’re going to light the wick, not the entire candle. You got that?” Stiles nods, and Lydia stands up to retrieve the candle. 

It’s going to be a long night.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok ok 
> 
> drama will happen
> 
> eventually

 

At some point, Scott returns. He comes bearing Mars bars and Tostitos, and also a host of other items that Stiles is sure he will eventually make his way through. Lydia, however, is the embodiment of evil (or at least Stiles thinks so, when she puts the chips and candy in front of him on the table and tells him he can’t have any until he gets the candle to light safely. Which, like, rude). 

Stiles tries again. He closes his eyes and thinks of a white door in his mind, swinging on its hinges. He reaches a hand forward and stops the movement. He walks through the door to find himself back upstairs, with the board in front of him again. But this time, instead of everything being about the candle, all Stiles can see is Derek’s face. He shakes his head and the pictures waver, but don’t go away. 

“Stop.” Stiles hears himself say, like Derek can hear him, and suddenly the pictures all are replaced with pictures of the candle. Sighing, Stiles reaches forward and begins to connect the strings. But when he’s about to put the last pin in, he notices that something isn’t quite right. 

Two of the red strings are twisted, and Stiles rolls his eyes, muttering to himself, “Of course,” then proceeding to untwist the strings. Once everything is properly connected, Stiles puts in the last pin and steps back. In the corner of his eye, he spots a picture of his mother’s family when she was younger, and he briefly wonders what that has to do with the candle, but then he feels heat underneath his hands and he opens his eyes. 

Below his fingers, there’s the soft glow of the candle burning bright. The flame is where it should be, but the wick doesn’t appear to be burning at all. Stiles looks up at Lydia and Scott, who are both grinning like idiots. 

“You did it!!” Lydia shouts, and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Stiles is smiling ear-to-ear, and as soon as Lydia releases him he’s swooped up into an equally (if not more) painful hug from Scott. 

“That was so cool, dude! It went all blue and sparky–no pun intended–then just _lit_!” 

“Well, Scotty, that is how fire works. Sort of,” Stiles says, grinning. He can feel his power thrumming just under his skin, and he notices his fingertips sparking. For a moment, he concentrates, and the blue stops coming out of his fingers. 

“Uh, Stiles, I hate to break this up, but wasn’t that candle cinnamon?” Lydia says, and there’s an edge to her voice that almost immediately crushes his joy. 

“Yeah, why?” Stiles turns to his friend, who’s staring at the candle with a look of concentration on her face that Stiles hasn’t seen her wear since the great vampire shitstorm of 2014. 

“Don’t you smell that?” Lydia looks at him like he’s stupid, and Stiles takes a deep breath through his nose. 

“Lavender.” Scott says it, and Stiles almost rolls his eyes at his friend’s werewolf senses. “Why would it smell like Lavender?” 

“I know this scent. It smells like...” Stiles can’t quite put his finger on where he knows the smell from, but then it hits him. He sees dark curls and feels arms wrapping around his small frame. He hears a melodic laugh and he _knows_. “It’s my mom...it’s her perfume.” Her favorite color was lavender.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DEREK POV EVERYONE BRACE BRACE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing something else then i was like 'wait but derek has a soul too' so here's about 600 words of derek's moral manpain
> 
> i just
> 
> derek needs to get his shit together
> 
> like, so bad
> 
> ALSO I ADDED IN A FEW OF MY FAV HEADCANONS LIKE I JUST   
> DEREK GIVING STILES HIS JACKET  
> IM GOING TO SHUT UP NOW

It was wrong. Derek knows that. He knows that it’s not right that he likes this man, this _boy_. He knows it’s not right that he did, but he loved the kiss. He loved the way Stiles’s lips felt against his, soft as velvet and smooth as silk. But when he pulled away there was such a look of trust in his eyes and it cut Derek right to his core, because he remembers how much he used to trust. 

Stiles is grieving, and he needs someone to hold onto. Derek understands that. But he knows that if he gets too close, it’ll only end in pain for both of them. That’s what Derek brings with him, everywhere he goes. He brings death and pain and anguish and it’s not what Stiles needs. Stiles has already gone through so much and he’s barely eighteen. 

Derek remembers when he was eighteen, what feels like aeons ago now. He was in New York with Laura and he was drowning in guilt and shame. Then, just two years later, Laura came back to Beacon Hills and it all started all over again. 

It’s not fair, Derek thinks. Stiles, bright, happy Stiles, shouldn’t have had to go through this. Derek remembers Stiles from when he went to school. He was a few years younger, but he was bright and energetic and he practically lived in Harris’ detention room _when he was in middle school_. Derek remembers being a sophomore and thinking that someday, that kid would grow up to be something. 

Now, nearly seven years later, Stiles is going on his senior year and Derek is almost twenty four, and Stiles certainly had grown up to be _something_. 

Derek’s entire loft smells of Stiles, just like all of his clothes and hell, even Laura’s old Camaro smells like him. Derek never realized it, but Stiles is everywhere. Stiles’s scent clings to Derek’s leather jacket and he remembers that one time in the rain when Stiles’s stupid old Jeep broke down and Derek gave him his jacket. Stiles had smiled at him and called him something that sounded suspiciously like ‘gentlewolf,’ but neither of them had commented on it. 

When Derek sits on his couch, he inhales the telltale scent of Adderall mixed with laundry detergent and pine needles. He remembers the day that Stiles had just walked in and dropped onto the couch, facedown. Derek had asked what was wrong, but his only response had been a muffled combination of sounds that Derek wasn’t even sure were human in the first place. When Stiles had rolled over and explained that Scott ditched their X-Box date for Allison again, Derek had raised an eyebrow and pointed to his own gaming console. Stiles wiped the floor with him, but Derek was okay with it, because by the end of the night, Stiles was grinning like a lunatic. 

Derek lets himself think about Stiles, and how absolutely _perfect_ he is, because he knows it’s never going to happen. He can’t let it. Stiles deserves someone like Lydia, someone who won’t dump their emotional baggage on him. He deserves someone who can curl up next to the fire without having PTSD, and Derek knows that he will never be what Stiles deserves. So he lets himself dream about soft lips and bony arms and pale thighs and bright eyes, because sometimes dreams are better than nightmares.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an awful person who apparently enjoys angsty sterek.

“Deaton, I’m not in the mood,” is the first thing Stiles says when he storms through the door to the veterinary clinic. “I found my magic, I lit a candle, and it smells like my mother’s perfume. So tell me what the hell is going on. Now. I don’t want any of your cryptic bullshit.” 

Deaton sighs, then begins talking. “Stiles, I can’t tell you for sure, but I believe it’s like how the wolves have an anchor. Your anchor is Claudia, because that’s where your Spark powers come from. So every time you use your magic you are strengthening that bond to your anchor, and you’ll be able to remember more and more about her.”

Stiles shakes his head, and his hands are trembling. “But what if I don’t want her to be my anchor? What if I don’t want to remember _what I could have had_? What then?”

Deaton shakes his head. “It’s not like werewolves. You can’t choose your anchor and your anchor most likely won’t change. I understand that it’s painful, but keep in mind that magic often requires a sacrifice. Your sacrifice is your pain. Keep hold of that, and it’ll keep you grounded.” 

“And if I forget the pain?”

“If you forget your pain, you’ll turn into the equivalent of a feral wolf. Your magic will be uncontrollable. If you forget your pain, we’ll have no choice but to kill you.” Deaton’s face is dead serious, and Stiles feels his breath coming quicker. 

“So, I either live with an immense amount of psychological pain for the rest of my life or I die. Sounds good.” Stiles can hear his heart pounding and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Deaton’s voice sounds far away. 

“Stiles, Stiles, breathe, come on, you need to breathe.” Deaton grabs hold of his arm, and Stiles wants it _off_. Not seconds after Stiles thinks it, his arm sparks blue and Deaton pulls his hand back as if burned. Stiles can’t get any air in his lungs and his legs collapse under him. His hands are shaking, trying to grab hold of something, _anything_ that could help him stand, help him relax. There are tears leaking from his eyes and he can hear Deaton’s voice in the distance. He isn’t talking to Stiles anymore, he’s on the phone, Stiles thinks. He can’t be sure, his ears are ringing and there’s no oxygen in his lungs. Stiles feels the hard linoleum floor underneath his back and reaches out for what, he doesn’t know. 

His chest is heaving as he writhes on the ground, unable to think or breathe or move, but then suddenly there’s a warm hand holding his and someone has a paper bag held up to his mouth.

Stiles slowly comes back, letting the brown bag regulate his breathing and sitting up. When his eyes come back to focus, there’s a pair of multicolored eyes staring back at him and a concerned look on Derek’s ridiculously attractive face. 

“What the fuck, Derek?” Stiles is pissed. “Why are you here?” Stiles really, _really_ can’t deal with this right now. 

Derek looks confused when he answers. “You needed help. Deaton called me.” His answer is matter-of-fact, and it infuriates Stiles to no end. 

Stiles knows he’s being a bit unreasonable, but his entire body is filled with rage and he thinks it’s just a little bit justified. “Are you fucking kidding me? So you run away when I kiss you but you’re there as soon as you hear I’ve been hurt. You need to leave, Derek, and you need to stay away until you make up your mind, because I can’t have your shit in my life too, not when I have my own problems to deal with.” Stiles watches as Derek’s face hardens. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Derek stands up, his hand slipping out of Stiles’s. “I’ll leave,” Derek says, before giving Stiles one last look and turning to the door. 

Stiles almost wants to do something stupid, like ask him to stay, but his entire body still hurts and his head is pounding from the temporary lack of oxygen. He’s sort of glad. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i felt guilty for not updating
> 
> derek feels guilty for liking stiles
> 
> we're all in the same boat here
> 
> ALSO check out the adorable oneshot i uploaded, of course also Sterek. Because I'm trash. It got like a weird amount of attention in under 24 hours so it's probably good?

Derek feels like shit. It’s nothing new, but this time it’s not because a nest of vampires attacked or even a rouge hunter showed up and though it’d be fun to play ‘kill the werewolf’. This time, it’s because an eighteen year old boy kissed him and he kissed back and he _liked_ it, but then he ran away and fucked it all up. 

Stiles has always been a bit different from the rest of the pack, in Derek’s opinion. He still remembers the first time he saw Stiles (properly, not just from afar back in school). His hair had been shaved close to his head and he’d been wearing some stupid Captain America t-shirt (Derek will never admit it but he watched the damn movies and fell just a little in love with Bucky). His first words to Stiles had been, “This is private property” and the kid had had the balls to sass him back. 

Derek had, to be honest, thought that was always how it would be. He figured Stiles would just always be this little annoying voice in the background. How wrong he was.

It’d started around the end of Scott and Stiles’s sophomore year. Stiles had shown up at the Hale house in his rusty old Jeep that Derek could hear from a mile away with his _human_ senses. Jesus. He’d said something about Scott being with Allison and having no one to have a movie marathon with. He’d steamrolled his way into Derek’s life after that one night. Stiles came by every few weeks to watch movies and talk and bitch about Jackson, and, on one memorable occasion, sit Derek down and force him to watch all of the Star Wars movies in order (starting with the original trilogy, of course). Derek never told him that he’d loved the movies since he was a kid. 

There was something about Stiles, something that made Derek want to open up to him. It had scared Derek then and it scares him now. It scares him how much influence Stiles has over him. When Deaton had called, Derek could hear Stiles’s heartbeat through the phone and didn’t need any prompting to drive to the clinic. He’d broken probably all of the traffic laws possible on his way to Deaton’s. Inside his head, there was an alarm going off, telling him _Stiles is in trouble_ and _you need to help Stiles_. He’d grabbed a bag from the prescriptions booth and rushed to Stiles’s aid, grabbing his hand instinctively. 

Derek winces now, as he thinks about how much pain Stiles was in. His chest was heaving, but he couldn’t breathe, and his hands were clenched into fists. He’d smelled the metallic scent of blood, only increasing his panic, and when their hands had connected Derek had felt the thick liquid against his palm. 

The scent of Stiles’s anxiety had been overwhelming, but it had been nothing compared to the mix of lust and anger that spiked through the air when Stiles looked at Derek’s face. 

Then he’d told him to leave, and Derek had realized how ridiculous he was being. Stiles could never be his. Derek carries pain with him everywhere he goes, and it’s not fair to add that to Stiles’s plate. So Derek left, and now he’s sitting in his loft, trying not to punch the wall, because he can’t afford to have a weakness. 

Stiles is Derek’s Achilles heel, and the only way to fix that is to break off any relationship they might have had, because everyone he’s ever loved has died too young and too fast, and he can’t do that to Stiles too. 

So Derek lets himself be miserable and moody and shred punching bags with his claws, because in the end, anything is better than getting close to Stiles.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i have a chem final in two days
> 
> instead I'm doing this. 
> 
> i hope you're happy.

School starts. It crept up on Stiles way too fast, but soon enough it’s the first day of senior year and he’s got a death grip on the strap of his backpack as he walks through the painfully familiar doors of Beacon Hills High. 

He manages to make it to his locker without anyone really _noticing_ him, but once he gets there the vultures descend. There are people Stiles has barely ever spoken one word to telling him that his father was loved and will be missed. More people have touched his shoulder than he thought physically possible. 

Stiles has never been happier to see Scott in his life. In between ignorant condolences, he mutters, “Jesus Christ Scott, come save me,” and approximately four seconds later Scott is leaning against the locker next to Stiles’s, glaring at everyone who passes. 

“How you holding up?” Over the past couple of weeks, Stiles has been focusing on his magic with Deaton during the days and distracting himself with movies and Scott at night. He’s been doing anything he can to avoid thinking about both his father and Derek, and the pack knows it. Not that they really care, because Stiles has always been there for them and they’d be shitty friends if they wouldn’t support him when he needed it. So they had pack movie nights where they let Stiles pick the movie (except for that one time Erica insisted upon watching Batman for the third time that week because she wanted to show Stiles something that she’d read about. It had turned out to be the UST between Batman and Robin, and Lydia had rolled her eyes and insisted that they watch the Notebook instead, to no one’s surprise.)

Stiles nods. “I’m okay.” Scott doesn’t have to listen to his heartbeat to know it’s the truth. Stiles isn’t great, isn’t totally better, but he’s okay, and that’s all Scott can ask him to be. 

Thankfully, the warning bell rings soon, and they can head to class and out of the perilous hallways. Of course, class isn’t much better. Stiles doesn’t miss the sympathetic glances thrown his way by his teachers. He doesn’t miss the whispers behind hands of his classmates. Uncharacteristically quiet, he sees it all. 

By the end of the day, Stiles has whispered a spell that Deaton taught him, _Necglegi_ , in order to ignore the whispers and the stares. It’s all he can do to not break down, but when the final bell rings Stiles is out of the building as soon as he can be. The keys to his rusty blue Jeep are in the ignition and he’s driving away, driving _anywhere_. 

Stiles pulls over on the side of a dirt road in the woods and breaks down. He sobs heavily, his shoulders shaking as he thinks of all the people that think his father died from and _animal attack_. They think it was some random, unpreventable incident. That’s all it is to them, and _incident_. It’s more gossip for the women that sit in Beacon Hills Coffee at lunchtime with their legs crossed at the ankles and their nails freshly polished. It’s just something to talk about, how bad everyone feels for him, how it must be absolutely _awful_ to have to go through something like that. They all say it, but Stiles wonders how many of the kids go home and hug their parents. Because he’s only had his dad for almost nine years, and now he has no one. But these people are lucky enough to have both of their parents, to have two people who would do literally anything for their happiness. 

Tears fall from Stiles’s cheeks onto the steering wheel, sliding down the cracked leather as he remembers how many times his dad had told him to just take the car to a proper mechanic and get it fixed. He remembers the look on his father’s face when Stiles had finally told him the truth about everything; about werewolves and kanimas and Alpha packs and every other bullshit supernatural creature that lived in Beacon Hills. He cries to the beat of the rain on his car, rain that shouldn’t even be here because, what the hell, it’s barely September and it never rains until April. 

His dad taught him that.

He cries until he can’t anymore, then he straightens up and tries to see through his red-rimmed eyes. He has somewhere to go. 

Stiles drives the semi-familiar route to the graveyard, only having gone there twice since he got his car. The first to put flowers on his mother’s grave, and the second to bury his father. But now he goes, alone, without anything to offer except for his own anguish. 

By the time he parks the Jeep, the rain is pouring down in buckets and Stiles is soaked the second he steps out of the car. The sun hasn’t set yet, but with the way the rain blocks out the light it may as well have. Stiles’s converse squelch in the muddy ground as he pushes open the gate to the graveyard. 

Naturally, Stiles has never been one to hang out around the dead. Resurrected, sometimes. But dead? Not a chance. Nevertheless, he makes his way through the rows of headstones until he finds the two matching ones, side by side. 

He kneels in the mud, his knees immediately getting covered in dirt. Stiles takes a deep breath in and places his hand on the marble of his father’s gravestone. 

“Uh, hi Dad. I came to tell you what’s been happening, I guess. I mean, it’s not like you really care, but I feel bad that I wasn’t honest with you sooner. So, I’m going to tell you all of it, like it is.” So Stiles does. He talks himself hoarse as the sun sets in the graveyard and his tears mingle with the rain on his face. 

When he’s done, he lets out a long breath. It’s finally stopped raining, but his hair flops into his eyes and his shirt is stuck to his back. He stands up, letting his fingers linger on the gravestone for just a second longer. Then he walks over to the adjacent grave and leans down, pressing his lips to the wet marble. He whispers something that might have been “I’m sorry” or possibly “I love you,” or maybe some combination of the two, but either way when Stiles leaves the graveyard he feels a lot lighter than he did when he came in. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is called: Stiles fights a demon, it's less epic than it sounds, and it creates emotional issues. 
> 
> aka: i had finals so I didn't write this whole week and i feel guilty

Stiles gets more comfortable at the graveyard. It’s something about how his parents are there, with all their history, that puts Stiles at ease. It’s not easy, but it’s _better_. 

He finds himself there more and more often. It’s a little weird, maybe, that he would rather put in headphones and do his homework up against the back of the gravestone of Agnes B. Higgins (the grave directly in front of his dad’s), but it’s where he feels the most at peace. 

Deaton says it has something to do with his magic. The way he’s connected to the earth draws him outdoors, and the graveyard is where humanity and earth intertwine. It’s a little creepy, yes, but no worse than what his friends usually do. Everyone has their coping mechanisms, and this is how Stiles copes. He’ll do a magic lesson with Deaton after school every day before grabbing his backpack and driving out to the graveyard to sit and do his homework while pretending that things are normal. 

As his magic develops, he finds it harder and harder to concentrate. As soon as he pulls out his papers, he’ll rest his hand on the ground and will a flower to grow, or the storm clouds in the distance will go away, and all of a sudden he won’t be able to focus on whatever’s in front of him. 

With some extensive research, and no thanks to Deaton’s cryptic answers, Stiles learns that using earth magic amplifies your internal qualities, so his ADHD is much worse when he uses his magic. It doesn’t really make him feel any better, but at least he has some answers. 

It’s on one of the later nights at the graveyard that it happens. Stiles is putting away his homework and standing up when he feels a vibration run through his body. Suddenly on alert, he drops his backpack and looks around, prepared for the worst. The pack have been chasing a homicidal undead demon lately and Stiles does _not_ want to come face-to-face with it in a dark alley (or graveyard, as it were). 

As always, Stiles has shitty luck. 

There’s a rustle of leaves behind him and Stiles turns around to find an eight-foot tall demon, complete with enormous, pointy horns and blood red skin. Stiles feels his heart jump to his throat as he remembers what he read about the demon, the _Anciłac._ One side of its body, the horn and nails are so poisonous that one drop can kill anything (including werewolves, of course), while on the other side it has the only antidote. It gets it skin color from the blood of its victims, but it only feeds every three hundred years. Stiles scrounges around in his memory for anything else, and all he can remember is something from the Argent’s bestiary–that in order to kill it, you must know its name. 

So Stiles does what he does best. He talks. “Jesus Christ, dude, you gotta warn a guy.” The demon turns its head in confusion, and Stiles grins a little as he tries to subtly summon his magic. 

“I mean, like, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but I’d rather you come announced. You could make an appointment with my assistant, for one. Or, you know, come during office hours. But now? Like, I’m in a graveyard. Have some respect, bro.” Sadly enough, Stiles’s best undercover identity is a magic dealer. It’s come in handy with some of the more _rational_ homicidal spirits that come through Beacon Hills. He can, sometimes, convince them to leave. It doesn’t always work, but it works enough that it’s not completely pointless.

What the hell has Stiles’ life come to?

The demon makes a growling noise that can only mean one thing, and _shit_ , Stiles is so going to be demon-dessert if he doesn’t act fast. So, he acts fast. He draws on his magic and creates a shield around his body that _should_ hold until he can get something more stable. Stiles searches for a spell to immobilize the demon while patting his pockets and trying to find his phone. All he comes up with is a crumpled gum wrapper and a spell to make vines grow very, very slowly up the demon’s legs. Thankfully, he’s bought himself enough time to strengthen the barrier enough to have the demon prowling around the exterior of the circle...menacingly. 

It’s the graveyard, Stiles thinks. It’s got to be. 

He reaches down and grabs at his bag, feeling the relief run through him as his hand fits around the sleek metal of his phone. Stiles pulls it out and doesn’t bother wondering why he doesn’t have, like, an earpiece or something. Because that would _really_ come in handy, with the amount of hands-free dialing he has to do. 

Stiles’s rampant thoughts about earpieces aside, he quickly types in Scott’s number and prays that he isn’t too deep into it with Allison. When Scott answers, Stiles can’t help but sigh in relief. 

“Scotty! How’s it going. So, you remember that demon we’ve been chasing? Well, I found it. Technically, it found me, but either way, it’s in the graveyard and I’m like 600 percent sure it wants to eat me, so please hurry.” Stiles’s voice maybe gets a bit hysterical towards the end, but he doesn’t wait for Scott’s confirmation before hanging up and tucking the phone into his back pocket. 

His eyes track the demon as it prowls around Stiles’s barrier, its eyes hungry. Which is just not a good thing. Nonetheless, Stiles knows they’ll need its name before they can defeat it, and, well, he can probably figure it out. If there’s one thing Stiles can do, it’s talk someone’s ear off. 

“Hi, I’m Stiles, what’s your name?” He starts with, and when the demon just looks at him like _seriously bro_ , Stiles keeps talking. “Or don’t tell me. We could just go with…tall and pointy! Yeah, that works. Y’know, all the books say you’re this big, scary demon, but I dunno. If you can’t even like, blend in to society, how are you gonna be that scary? I mean, you’ve gotta have some kind of human form.” The demon snarls, but shifts into a teenage boy. He’s devastatingly handsome, which Stiles thinks is kind of unfair. 

“So, ah, why are you here? Because I dunno if you’ve heard lately, but the Beacon Hills pack is _not_ something to be trifled with. I mean, we’ve got––“

Stiles is cut off by the demon’s cold voice. “I am aware of what you have. You have a banshee that can break glass in a heartbeat, an archer who never misses. You have both a true alpha and a born wolf. However, what I am most drawn to is the spark that struck down an Æthereal. How much praise do you think I would get, to say that I defeated him?”

Stiles’s blood runs cold, but he manages to respond with a steady voice. “If you’re ready to kill a Spark, how come you can’t even get through my flimsy barrier?” 

The demon throws back its head and laughs, a grating sound that makes Stiles wince. “You think I can’t get through the barrier? Ah, Spark, you’re more naïve than you look. No, I could get through the barrier in seconds, and rip your throat out besides. But I’ve decided to wait, because you called your little friends, and once I take out the Beacon Hills pack, there will be nothing stopping me from taking Beacon Hills as my own personal feeding ground.”

Stiles, though thrown for a second, quickly gains back his snark, because he knows what to do with this. “Monologuing? Really? That’s a little too bond-villain, I think. Not really your type, is it?” As he talks, Stiles starts reaching for his magic that he can feel simmering just below his consciousness. 

The demon bares its (still human, Stiles notes) teeth. “You’re right. Maybe I should just get on with it. I bet Spark blood tastes so sweet.” It starts walking towards Stiles, who closes his eyes and breathes out an incantation, pushing his magic behind it. He remembers vaguely that Deaton said something about this spell being incredibly dangerous, but Stiles hasn’t read a rulebook in years and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start with magic. 

Still, Stiles has never been happier to have human hands choking him. When he opens his eyes, he’s staring into the demon’s still-human face. He watches as the realization dawns on the demon of what Stiles did. 

“What did you…you’ve turned me human! That’s impossible! I am older than time itself! I rose from the pits of hell thousands of years ago! You can’t do this to me!” Stiles smirks. 

“Guess what, big bad. I didn’t. I simply trapped you in your human form, so that when my pack gets here they can kick your ass, because it’s really not nice to kill people.” 

Right on cue, Scott and Erica burst through the foliage. Stiles barely has time to think _oh thank god_ before Erica is tackling the demon in front of him. The demon hits the ground with a loud _thud_ , and Erica snarls on top of it, slashing a clawed hand across its face. 

Despite the blow that should have killed it, the demon is laughing, its mouth bloodied. 

“You’ll never kill me. You don’t know my name, you can’t. Besides, whatever you do to me, I’ll heal.” It laughs again, blood pooling on the ground next to its no-longer-perfect face. 

Stiles leaves his protective circle to stand above the demon. “Here’s the thing, buddy, you _won’t_ heal. Your demon soul might be impossible to kill, but your human body isn’t. So it’s either you tell us your name and we put you out of your misery, or you’re forever stuck in a dead human body, trapped for eternity. You can already feel it, can’t you? You should be dead right now, from that cut along your face. It’s taking all of your energy just to animate this body. So tell us your name, unless you want to live like this, forever.” The demon snarls and spits up at Stiles, who just sighs. “Alright then, have it your way.”

Erica reaches down and slashes out the demon’s throat, spraying blood across the field. The demon looks up at Stiles’ eyes. “I’m not the last. There will be others, others like me, who want your blood, who crave it, who will stop at nothing to get it. Don’t imagine for a second I’m the end. You’ll die soon, and you know it,” The demon starts laughing again, and Stiles watches as the light leaves its eyes and the laughter dies out. Although it should make him feel good, Stiles feels more like puking than anything. His mouth is dry as he looks at the blood spattered across the gravestone three down from his father’s. That could be him. That _will_ be him. 

The demon’s body dissolves into the ground, leaving only blood in its wake. It doesn’t feel good, it doesn’t feel right, but it’s something that had to be done. 

Stiles wonders what his Dad would say, if he knew that he’d become a murderer.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a filler, what can i say
> 
> idk about you guys but I've been really stressed lately, so sorry for the lack of posting for like two weeks
> 
> don't worry, i'll update soon with what is bound to be a UST filled thanksgiving dinner

By the time Thanksgiving approaches, Stiles has been almost-murdered four times. After the _Anciłac_ demon, there was a snake monster that came out of the lake near the Sheriff’s Department, and a wood sprite that had its heart set on eternal glory. Not to mention, of course, the rogue hunter that Allison was forced to take care of. 

So it’s really no surprise at all when number five rolls around. Thankfully, Stiles has been learning a lot more offensive magic, so when the coven of witches tries to turn him into a ferret, he's prepared. Well, not for that exact situation, but he manages to make the spell bounce back onto the witches. 

Needless to say, when Scott shows up to find Stiles surrounded by eight ferrets, it gets a little confusing. Regardless, he brings the ferrets to the clinic and conveniently forgets to tell Deaton how he came across eight ferrets with the mark of Rahput on their heads. 

After Scott leaves, Stiles sets to work reinforcing the wards around his house. Like, how did the witches even get through these? They were the equivalent of military strength bazooka wards. Either way, he was just fixing up the runes around his living room when he heard a knock on the door. 

“Scott, I told you, I’m fi–oh you are _so_ not Scott.” The door swings open to reveal an extremely sheepish looking Derek. 

“Uh, hi, yeah, I’m kind of not Scott? Sorry?” Derek says, and Stiles can feel his cheeks burning bright red. After the kiss three months ago, they’d been adamantly ignoring each other. Stiles was sort of hoping that if he ignored it, it would go away, but his crush kind of only got worse, and it’s really not helped by Derek’s cheekbones being less than a foot away from his face. 

“So…why are you here? Not that I’m not, like, glad that you’re here, but you know, after, uh, everything that happened, I just thought–” Stiles has never been happier to be interrupted in his life. 

“It’s alright. I get it. I just came, cause, well, we’re sort of having a pack thanksgiving at my place, and Lydia forced me to come over and invite you. So, uh, thanksgiving dinner at mine, 5:00?” Derek looks…hopeful? Stiles has always been shit at interpreting emotions. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come around.” Stiles says, and Derek nods definitively. 

“Okay, great then. Uh, see you Thursday.” Derek turns around and walks back to his car, waving at Stiles before getting in and carefully backing out of the driveway. Once he’s out of earshot, Stiles shuts the door and yells “FUCK” at the top of his lungs. 

 

———

 

By 4:15 on Thursday afternoon, Stiles has thrown nearly every outfit he owns on the floor and he's _this_ close to having an anxiety attack. Which is really, really not good. So, naturally, he calls Danny. Because Danny is attractive to gay guys. And Stiles really needs to be attractive to gay guys. Or, like, one gay guy in particular. Actually, not even a gay guy, because Derek is bi, but who’s counting. 

It’s 4:27 when Danny rings the doorbell and is promptly dragged inside the house by a frantic Stiles wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a t-shirt covered in holes. 

“Danny, what do I wear? I mean, I want Derek to think I’m hot, but I also don’t want him to think I’m trying too hard, but like—”

“Don’t worry man, I’ve got you.” Danny says, and Stiles sighs with relief. Danny drags him up to his room and picks up a henley and a pair of jeans from the floor. “Go put these on, he won’t be able to resist.”

“How do you know?” 

“I used to have a crush on you in like, freshman year. I got over it, but I still know what looks good on you. And this does. So go,” Stiles just stares at Danny. 

“You used to have a—”

“Yeah, yeah, get over yourself. Go get changed.” Danny crosses his arms and  nods his head towards the bathroom. Stiles grabs the clothes from Danny’s hand and goes to get changed.

When he comes out, Danny looks him over and says, “Do something about the hair and you’ll be perfect.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Stiles looks in the mirror and runs a hand through his hair. 

Danny shrugs. “I dunno man, it’s just…messy. I can’t help you, I gotta run. Family thanksgiving tonight and all that. Good luck!” Danny claps him on the shoulder and heads out the door, leaving Stiles alone in his room to freak out over his hair. 

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a sucker for domestic sterek what can i say
> 
> also my grades are absolutely fantastic so this happened and I'm p happy with it

Stiles shows up at Derek’s with about fifteen pounds of product in his hair and a death grip on a pie tin. 

“Uh, hey, I brought pie? Cause you know, it’s Thanksgiving, and on Thanksgiving you eat pie, and don’t worry I made sure it was nut-free because I know Isaac’s allergic to–” 

“Thanks Stiles, it looks lovely. Come in.” Derek cuts off Stiles’ rambling and Stiles is _so_ glad. Inside the loft, Stiles can see a long table set and the pack milling around the living room. Stiles is incredibly relieved to see that he’s not going to be left alone with Derek. That is, until Lydia grabs him by the arm and tugs him into a closet. Stiles didn’t even know Derek _had_ closets. He’d never admit it, but he’d always sort of thought that Derek just wore shirts until they got blood on them, then he threw them out and got new ones. Yeah, the closet makes more sense. 

“Lydia! What the fu–ow!” Stiles yelps when Lydia smacks him over the head. 

“You, Stiles, are going to work things out with Derek if it’s the last thing you ever do. I _refuse_ to sit idly by and let your sexual tension make this dinner awkward. So go bone the man and get it over with already, it’s a little pathetic how you two are dancing around each other.” 

“Hey! I like to think about it as less pathetic and more…rom com?” Stiles protests, and Lydia smacks him across the head again.

“Rom coms are over in two hours. This has been going on for, like, three years. Finish it up already!” Lydia shoots him one last exasperated look and tosses her hair over her shoulder (how she has room to do this, Stiles has no idea, because this closet is about the size of a sardine can) and stalks out of the closet, leaving Stiles alone with Derek’s impressive henley collection. Stiles takes a deep breath then heads out himself, braced and ready to talk to Derek. Mainly because he’s afraid of Lydia. 

What he’s really not ready for, however, is Derek in an apron. An apron that says _Kiss the Cook_ on it. But Derek is wearing one, because apparently God hates Stiles. He’s also carrying a tray full of turkey and Stiles didn’t think he could ever get more attracted to Derek, but watching him be all domestic is really doing it for Stiles. Which is a little weird, but also not fully unjustified, because Derek is smiling widely and _letting his picture be taken_. Who _is_ this?

Derek sets the turkey down on the table and he doesn’t even need to call everyone to sit down before they’re all at the table, staring at the turkey. Because apparently Derek can cook. Stiles doesn’t think his brain can take any more, because this goes against literally everything he knows about Derek. 

Derek is dark and broody and growly, not domestic and smiling and _caring_. What alternate dimension had Stiles stumbled into?

It takes a second, but he realizes the pack is waiting for him to sit down, and he hurries to do so. 

“Alright then, let’s eat!” Derek says, and almost immediately everyone reaches for  the food in front of them. Lydia gives Stiles a pointed look across the table, and Stiles sinks down into his chair while spooning some cranberry sauce onto his plate. This night will be torture, if he’s lucky. 

 

He’s not lucky. Three hours later, they’re all full and lazy, lying on the couch with the game on, beers on the coffee table. Most of the pack has left, to go spend the rest of the night with their families, and just Scott, Derek, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison remain. Derek is uncomfortably close to Stiles, his arm lazily thrown over the back of the sofa and Stiles’s head _almost_ resting on his shoulder. The Packers score and Scott cheers loudly, startling the group. Almost immediately after, Scott goes to take a swig from his beer only to find that it’s already empty. He stands up to go grab another, and Allison and Lydia share a look and follow him.

Stiles really doesn’t like the look he gets from Lydia before they leave, so he takes a deep breath and sits up. Derek looks at him curiously, and it’s really hard for Stiles to do this. 

“Derek, I…I think we should talk about what happened a few months ago, when we, you know…” 

“Kissed.” Derek’s face shifts into that of concentration, and Stiles sort of misses the confusion.

“Yeah.” 

“What about it?”

“Well, I, uh, I was hoping that maybe it could be a little more than just, like, that one kiss? I mean, like, I really like you, okay, and I don’t want to fuck this up, but it’s been awkward between us for months and I’d really rather it wasn’t.” Stiles is a little hysterical by the end, but it’s been said and Derek, well, Derek is entirely unreadable. 

“You mean that?” 

“Yeah, of course I do!”

“Really?” Stiles nods slowly, and he watches as something shifts in Derek’s eyes. “Good, cause I really like you too. And I really, really don’t want to fuck this up.” Stiles watches as Derek’s face splits into a grin and feels himself mimicking the expression.

“Holy shit, for real?” Stiles’s heart is racing, and he doesn’t care that Derek can hear it.

“Yes, Stiles, for real.” Derek nods, and Stiles leans forward and presses his lips to Derek’s, because he kind of can’t stand not kissing Derek for another second. 

It’s like that first kiss, but so much better because now they _know_ and it’s just _right_. Derek’s arm comes around Stiles’s waist while his other hand cups his face. Stiles runs his hands through Derek’s hair and it’s all just absolutely perfect. Their lips fit like two pieces of a puzzle and their hearts are beating in time. It’s all Stiles wanted and more. It could have been minutes, or hours, or maybe days, but Stiles is absolutely sure that someone froze time because all he can feel, all he can ever feel, is Derek’s lips and Derek’s hands and for once he’s completely happy.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so tired i just

Stiles isn’t sure what he expected, relationship-wise. Derek’s last girlfriend had been a homicidal English teacher and the last time Stiles had tried to get with anyone she’d been kidnapped then ritually sacrificed by said English teacher. Between the two of them, their dating history was fairly abysmal. Which is why Stiles had seriously not seen the whole “soft side of Derek” coming. 

Stiles had always sort of assumed that Derek was the problem in his relationships (aside from the violent tendencies of his girlfriends, of course), but ever since they started dating three weeks ago it’s been nothing but rainbows and puppies. Like, literal puppies, because apparently Derek is really good with dogs and volunteers at a dog shelter in his down time. Stiles is pretty sure he found the best guy in the world. 

The assassin comes on a Tuesday. It’s a couple of weeks after Thanksgiving and Stiles is at Derek’s, watching a movie. That’s the assassin’s first mistake. It’s a mage with a stunning resemblance to a potato and a gnarled staff in its hand. He bursts through Derek’s windows and aims a ball of electricity at Stiles, who moves quick enough that the blue energy crackles off the temporary shield he creates. Before Stiles can blink, Derek is leaping over him, fully wolfed out, ready to kill. Stiles senses a flash of terror in the mage’s aura as Derek tackles him and holds a claw to his throat. 

“What do you want?” Derek growls, claws moving closer to the mage’s windpipe.

“What everyone else wants, the Spark. You should just hand him over and you could save yourself a lot of grief.” The mage says, and Stiles winces.

“Wrong move, buddy.” Derek says before lifting his hand to deliver the final blow, only to cry out in agony as a blade pierces his chest. He rolls off the mage, clutching at the dagger sticking out of his torso.

Stiles sees red. He grabs the mage by the neck and lifts him off the ground with strength he didn’t know he possessed. 

“That’s my boyfriend you stabbed.” Stiles says before whispering an incantation and tossing the mage against a wall. As soon as he hits the metal, ropes wrap around his hands and feet, binding him to the exposed pipes on the wall. Stiles walks over to the mage’s abandoned staff, dropped when Derek tackled him. 

Stiles holds the staff up in front of the mage’s face while he examines it, because this man was going to _suffer_. 

“About four and a half feet, I’d say. Rowan wood, right? So that supernatural creatures can’t touch it? Well guess what, dumbass. That’s a bit of bullshit right there. Only most supernaturals can’t touch rowan. But you forgot one thing, didn’t you? You appear to have forgotten that I am not most supernaturals. So, for example, I will have no problems cracking your staff right _here_ , in between these two symbols of…protection and luck. Or over here, next to bravery and honor. Honor? Tell me, is it very honorable to break into someone’s boyfriend’s home? I would go with no. So how about you promise to leave me alone forever, or I break this thousand-year-old staff.” Stiles waves the staff around and tries to ignore Derek’s groans of pain from the corner. 

“Very well. You have my word. Now release me so I can leave with my staff.” The mage growls, and Stiles laughs lightly. 

“If you insist.” Stiles throws the staff out the window before clapping his hands and releasing the restraints. 

Without hesitation, the mage sprinted to the window and jumped out of the broken glass, letting Stiles finally get a good look at Derek.

There’s blood pooling under his back, staining his skin red and soaking his tank top. Stiles takes a deep breath and grabs the dagger, tugging it out in one swift movement. 

“You are _not_ allowed to die on me, okay? You hear me, Derek? Because I didn’t come this far only to have you die in the backseat of my jeep on the way to Deaton’s. That’s just _not_ cool.” Stiles is rambling, but he’s nervous and all he can think of is that he can’t go on if Derek dies, too. So he breaks every speeding law there is on the way to the clinic because if he can’t save Derek’s life he won’t be able to do anything.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is called: it started fluffy but jo is a masochist and ended it like THAT.
> 
> (I'm so sorry guys. I promised fluff, but the last paragraph just....ignore me)

Derek will be fine, or so Deaton says. In the meantime, however, because the knife was laced with non-lethal wolfsbane, it’ll take Derek about two weeks to heal fully. In that time, he can’t strain himself too much or else the wolfsbane won’t fully leave his body. Stiles, naturally, takes this as a sign that Derek can’t leave his bed for two weeks and insists on taking care of him.

It’s almost a first for Derek, having someone take care of him so thoroughly. He can hardly remember the last time someone brought him soup in bed or held his hand as he fell asleep. It feels nice to be loved and to be wanted, but it’s more than that. Stiles cares, and Derek can tell, and it’s really great.

“Derek, you’d better not be out of bed!” Stiles calls from the kitchen, only to whip around three seconds later when he feels a hand on his back. “You are…not in bed.” Stiles says, staring up at Derek with wide eyes. 

“No, I’m not, because Deaton said two weeks and it’s been one and a half. I’m _fine_ , Stiles, you don’t have to take care of me anymore.” Derek says, circling an arm around Stiles’s waist and pulling him closer, away from the hot stove.

“Yes, exactly, Deaton said two weeks and it hasn’t been two weeks yet! I know you’re itching to go out and fight all the big bads here in Beacon Hills, but I swear the pack has been doing just fine without you and we all just want to see you get better.” Stiles runs his hand along the bandage still on Derek’s chest. “If I lift this up, there will still be an open wound, and it’s not safe for you to go on straining yourself.” Stiles says, and his words have a little too much weight to them.

“Fine. But just until Tuesday, then I’m hitting the gym, because I am so out of shape,” Derek says, and Stiles laughs. 

“You’re kidding me, right? You’re like, the most fit person I know!” Stiles protests, letting his fingers roam across Derek’s bare chest. 

“Nah, not the most fit person, but I’m up there with all the super-lithe werewolves, aren't I?” Derek asks, smirk growing.

“You asshole! You just want me to say you’re the most fit! Which is like, true, but also not something I should ever say around the pack.” Stiles swats at Derek’s arm, earning a gruff chuckle from the older man, who reaches behind him and shuts off the burner of the stove before leaning forward and kissing Stiles softly. 

“Yeah, maybe I want to hear it a little.” Derek says, bringing his hand up to cup the back of Stiles’s neck. 

“You are so predictable, oh my god.” Stiles mutters against Derek’s lips, smiling a little. “You’d–mmph” Stiles is cut off once again by Derek’s lips against his. “Derek, you need to be–mmm–resting!” Stiles protests, and Derek chuckles. 

“C’mon babe, I’ve been resting all week! It’s okay that I’m up and about a little!” Derek says, his lips inches from Stiles’s. 

Stiles turns around and turns the stove back on, picking up the wooden spoon and stirring the soup again. Derek nestles his head in the crook of Stiles’s neck as he cooks. 

“Derek, you’re still healing, don’t think I’ve forgotten. You’re stupid tendencies to protect people are going to get you killed one day.” Stiles sighs, lifting up a spoonful of the soup to taste it. 

“Hey, I’m glad I protected you. You’re worth it.” Derek doesn’t exactly say it, but Stiles feels the words nonetheless. _You’re worth dying for_. The air in the room is suddenly much thicker, and Stiles’s throat seems to be clogged just a little. 

“Don’t.” Stiles says, and Derek nods softly into his neck, tightening his arms around Stiles’s torso. It’s moments like this that remind Stiles that Derek has lost too, lost so many, and that he actually understands. So Stiles melts back into Derek’s torso and Derek accepts Stiles’s chicken soup without protest, and the two of them click like two puzzle pieces and it all sort of feels normal. 

It’s nice, Stiles thinks. It’s all very nice. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIT GOES DOWN IN THIS CHAPTER
> 
> (also derek pov yay!!!!!!!)
> 
> also I'm very sorry for this i was at musical rehearsal for like four hours today and we oNLY GOT THROUGH THE FIRST ACT WHAT THE LEGITIMATE FUCK

 

_The room is dark, but it’s not night. Derek would be able to feel the moon. He takes in his surroundings, testing the chains on his skin. He knows they must be wolfsbane infused, and he sees the electrical wires connected to his chest. He tilts his head back and rests it against the metal fence behind him. That’s when he hears it._

_The soft whimper of, “Derek?” comes from across the room, and Derek’s head shoots up to see Stiles chained to a similar fence as Derek._

_Out of instinct, Derek cries out, “Stiles!”_

_“Derek? Derek, where are you?” Stiles shouts, and Derek remembers that Stiles can’t see in the dark like he can._

_“Stiles, don’t worry, I’m here. It’s just too dark for you to see. I’m directly across from you. Can you hear me if I talk like this?” Derek tries to speak at a normal volume despite the panic lacing his voice._

_“Yeah, yeah, I can. Why are we here, Derek? How did we get here?” Derek can hear Stiles’s heart racing, smell his anxiety._

_“I don’t know, Stiles. I know we’ll make it out, okay? We’ll get out.”  Derek says, his voice shaking just the smallest amount. It’s okay for him to be tied up and tortured. But Stiles? Stiles is human. Stiles can’t stand the same amount of pain that he can. All Derek can hope for is that Stiles makes it out alive._

_“Actually, I don’t believe you will.” The newcomer’s voice is sharp and clear, cutting through the room like a knife. Derek hears the flip of a switch and the room is flooded with electric light. The man is standing next to a large fuse box, crossing his arms. There’s a jagged scar marring the otherwise beautiful surface of his face. “You see, wolf, there’s a bounty on that one’s head.” He points to Stiles with the tip of a knife Derek hadn’t seen before. “And you, well, let’s say Beacon Hills could always stand to lose one more werewolf.” The man grins then, and his smile would be charming if it wasn’t so menacing._

_“Now, let’s see. Spark’s blood is said to be extremely rare…I wonder how much I could get for it.” He crosses the room to stand next to Stiles, whose bare torso is heaving as the scent of panic fills the air._

_“Derek! Derek, help!” Stiles shouts, and Derek strains against the chains holding him to the fence._

_“Ah ah ah, none of that, wolf boy.” The hunter leans forward and turns a dial on the electrical panel sitting on the table, sending waves of electricity coursing through Derek’s body. Just as he feels like he can’t take any more, the man turns the electricity off and Derek sags back against the fence. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, Spark’s blood.” The man puts his knife on Stiles’s stomach and_ slices _. Blood spills out, crimson and thick. The air is heavy with the scent of it, and the man produces a bowl from nowhere and collects the falling blood. Stiles sobs weakly as the blood falls from his stomach._

_“There there, it’ll all be over soon. I’ve got what I wanted, now let’s finish off what I came for.” The man holds his knife up to Stiles’s throat and in one swift movement it’s all over. Derek cries out and struggles against his chains as he hears Stiles’s heart stop beating. His blood is racing, his clawed hands trying to reach out, trying to save him_ _—_

 

Derek shoots out of bed, his bare torso covered in sweat. It’s not the first time he’s had the dream since the mage attacked two months ago, but it’s the first time in a while it’s been so vivid. He could almost feel Stiles slipping away from him, his heart slowing, his breath stopping. It had been so real, so terrifying. 

Derek makes his way into the bathroom, flicking on the light and wincing at the brightness. He turns on the shower and begins to strip down, letting the water run while he tries to relax. When he finally gets under the spray, the water is a comfort against Derek’s skin, reminding himself that _this_ is real and that he’s where Stiles is safe, where no one will be able to get to him. He allows himself to relax a little with that knowledge and takes his time turning off the faucet. 

When he walks into his room, towel wrapped around his waist, he’s surprised to find a small envelope waiting for him on the bed. It’s three in the morning, and he knows this can only mean bad news. Derek dresses and towels off before picking up the envelope however, not wanting to be caught unawares. 

Inside, there’s a note with only four words written, and yet it sends spikes of fear shooting through Derek’s body.  

_We have the Spark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TOLD YOU DIDN'T I? I TOLD YOU SHIT WENT DOWN. 
> 
> (i was gonna make it like "he dies at sunset" or some dramatic bs like that but I've decided to not write myself into a corner instead)


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER

Everything is dark, and Stiles can feel the cold air on his bare torso. He tries to pull his hands in front of him only to find that they’re tied behind his back with some sort of bungee cord. There’s a tiny window at the top of the cement wall and it’s spewing moonlight into the room, allowing Stiles just enough light to take in his surroundings.

He’s in some kind of basement, he thinks, as he spots the pipes running along the ceiling. The air is dank and the vague scent of mold covers the room. Stiles drags himself into a sitting position just as someone flicks a switch and Stiles is suddenly blinded by the lights. 

Once his eyes adjust, he notices four people standing in front of a table about fifteen feet from Stiles and just in front of a door Stiles had somehow missed before. The first was a man with red burns up half of his face, the second a woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun. The other two appeared to be twins, both in their forties, with long noses and greying hair. 

“So you’re the all-powerful Spark we keep hearing about. The first in…what…a hundred years?” The woman picks up a knife off the table and starts twirling it in her hands. Stiles tilts his head and observes the woman, obviously the leader of the group. 

“Actually, it’s over two hundred, but I can see how you could get confused. Your school experiences were probably less about learning and more about getting shoved into lockers. But hey, who needs math in the real world anyways?” Stiles’s voice is rough from disuse and his throat burns when he talks, but it’s worth it for the way the woman’s face pinches up. 

“Oh, you’re just making this easier and easier.” The woman shakes her head and walks around the table to come to stand about a foot in front of Stiles. She leans down and Stiles braces himself for the knife, but instead he sees her start to draw a red circle in front of him. For the first time, Stiles notices an identical circle around him, and he can feel the weight of his magic being crushed. 

“Wow, red circle, really intimidating.” Stiles quips while mentally working out what that could mean. It could be a demon summoning, but Stiles doubts they would go through all this trouble just for a lowly demon. No, more likely it’s a god, waiting for revenge against Stiles. 

“You know, you’re not going to become gods if you do this.” Stiles says offhandedly, and though the woman and twins ignore him, the burnt man steps forward.

“What did you say?” His voice is gruff, and Stiles almost feels bad for him, but then again he’s trying to kill him so Stiles really doesn’t have that much sympathy. 

“I _said_ , you’re not going to become gods. Whoever’s using you to kill me is just going to kill you afterwards, not elevate you to god status. You can only become an Æthereal if you earn it, and this is really not earning it. You’re killing an eighteen year old kid. This isn’t really the stuff of heroes.” Stiles rolls his eyes and sits back as far as he can with the cords around his hands. 

“Bullshit! Amelia, can we get this over with, he’s starting to annoy me.” The man says, and the woman, Amelia, shoots him a look. 

Stiles feels at the bungee cords and tries to find a weakness, but they’re tight as ever. Amelia walks forwards and leans over the red line, careful not to break it. She nicks Stiles with her knife and collects his blood into a bowl, sprinkling it over the point where the two circles intersect. Stiles isn’t worried until she starts chanting. Because until she does, they could just be summoning a very minor god that will probably just go back to sleep or something. 

But then she starts chanting. 

It’s something ancient and foreign, something not even Stiles can comprehend. He knows immediately that she’s summoning one of the Seven. Stiles runs through all of them in his head and decides that she was most likely summoning _Indrus_ , the vengeful god of wars. It’s just Stiles’s luck, really. 

As soon as she finishes the chanting, the twins behind her let out an awful wail, and she whips around to face them. They all watch as their eyes turn from blue to a pure black, then gold, then white before their bodies arch unnaturally back and they both fall to the ground, dead. A golden mist rises from their bodies and hovers through the air until it reaches Amelia, whose face reflects pure horror as it descends onto her and Stiles watches as the god runs through her body and gathers her strength before breaking her back and moving to the other man. 

“See, I told you, not a god.” Stiles says with a smirk on his face while the last man tries to make a break for it only to be covered in the golden mist and felled like the rest of his crew. The mist floated to a stop right in front of Stiles before forming into a vaguely humanoid shape, still made out of shifting golden particles. 

Stiles rises unsteadily to his feet, feeling the effects of the bond circle lifting now that the woman who drew it was dead. Within seconds, he was free of his bonds and stood with both hands clenched at his sides. 

“Indrus.” Stiles says with an inclination of his head. He knows he isn’t making it out of this one alive, but that doesn’t mean he won’t go down without a fight. 

“Spark.” The god tilts its ever-moving head as if taking in Stiles’s appearance. Its voice reminds Stiles of nails on a chalkboard. “Why are you alive?” 

“Well, let me tell you a secret: I tried _really really hard_.” Stiles says, unable to stop himself.

The god sighed, as if Stiles’s murder was nothing but an unwanted chore. “No worries, you won’t be for much longer.” The god sighs one more time before lunging out with a suddenly knife-like arm towards Stiles’s torso. Stiles jumps back just in time, suddenly ready to fight. 

Stiles knows that in order to take this god down, it’ll have to become solid first, so Stiles focuses his energy on harnessing the god’s life force. It takes a minute of Stiles dodging nearly-deadly attacks, but he soon has a firm grasp around the core of the god and he throws it at the nearest physical form, which just happens to be the woman that fell before. 

The god rises, outraged. “You _dare_ put me in this mortal body? You have taken something that can never be given back! You will die for this!” The god shouts in the woman’s voice, and Stiles feels a rush of adrenaline course through his body. 

“Something very dear has already been taken from me, buddy. I really don’t have much to lose at all. And you know what they say; the most dangerous man there is has nothing to lose.” Stiles says darkly, conjuring two of his throwing knives from back at his house where they were sitting on his dresser. He quickly tosses the magic-laced blades at the god, where they embed deep inside the torso of the woman. The god growls and advances yet again, grabbing at the woman’s gun and beginning to shoot it at Stiles. Stiles blocked as many of the bullets that he could, but one lodges itself deep in Stiles’s arm and he cries out loudly in response. 

Stiles feels power welling up inside of him at the sudden burst of pain racing through his arm and with one hand he makes a motion and the woman’s head topples off her shoulders. Stiles sees the golden mist dissipate from the now headless figure and transfer into the two twins, still behind the table. They stand up in unison and sprint to Stiles, their eyes liquid gold and their hands crackling with godly magic. 

“You will pay for what you’ve done!” The god yells through both twins, and Stiles feels a knife slice against his side before he knows what’s happening. The god has gained experience, knowledge, and now it’s using that information to its advantage. Stiles is being hacked at from two fronts, and each time he attacks the twins it barely slows them down. No matter what he does he can’t seem to repeat his magic from before to overpower them. 

Suddenly, there’s an enormous bang and Stiles looks up to see Derek standing in the doorway, his eyes glowing Alpha red. With no hesitation, he runs directly at the first twin, knocking him down and tearing him to shreds. The twin Stiles is fighting seems weaker and it’s easy for Stiles to use his magic to throw the other into the ceiling, letting his body fall and break with an audible crack. The golden mist floats to the final body, and its skin crackles gold as the god reanimates it. 

“You can’t kill me!” the god yells, extending its arms and channelling its magic through the human arms, blowing Stiles into the far wall. Derek charges at the god, only to get knocked unconscious with an incantation. “Wolves are so weak. Why did you bring one to save you? It can’t, really, it can’t. You’re destined to die soon enough, why not now?” The god says, and Stiles lets out a scream of rage before reaching out with his magic and snapping the body’s neck. The body collapses and the golden mist hovers in the air before sinking deep into the still-unconscious Derek’s skin. Stiles tries to throw up a protection spell, but it’s too late. The god stands up and cracks its, no, Derek’s neck. 

“Hmm, I like this body. Very comfortable. New, you know? Now, where were we…ah yes, you were dying.” The words sounded off in Derek’s mouth, like he shouldn’t have been saying them. The god picks up a knife from the table still behind it and throws it at Stiles how only a creature with the superior accuracy of a werewolf could. 

Stiles manages to deflect it, despite the rapid blood loss coming from his arm and side. 

“You just _won’t die_ , will you? We’ve known for _decades_ that you were meant to be the spark, did you know? You just took so damn long figuring it out that no one was _sure_ yet. But we all really knew when you killed her. The goddess, I mean. _Derriterra_. Most people don’t even know who it was that you killed. She was minor, a nothing, the goddess of fairies or some crap. No one even cared about her. But I did. And what do I get? An asshole Spark who thinks it’s okay to go around killing _my_ love!” The god picks up two more knives and throws them before Stiles can blink. The first one hits him in his shoulder and the second one in the thigh. Stiles falls to the floor as pain flares through his body. “You think you know what you’re doing but you don’t. You’re _weak_. You were weak when your father died, you’re weak now. You’ll be weak in death, too.” The god sneers at Stiles through Derek’s face and lifts his clawed hand for the final blow. 

Stiles can barely throw up a protection ward through his pain, and even then the god smashes through it with ease. “Tell your parents I say hi, won’t you?” Indrus grins again, all teeth with Derek’s eyes glowing gold, and slashes across Stiles’s torso with Derek’s claws extended. 

Stiles’s back arches in pain as blood flows from the wounds across his chest. He feels the warmth of his blood run down his body, feels his life force draining out. In his head, he sees strings unraveling, falling from the board with pictures tumbling after. His hands grasp at nothing and his heart is loud in his ears, pounding, slowing, stopping. He gasps for breath and he isn’t sure, but he thinks he sees a light far, far away…

Then there are hands grasping at his shoulders roughly and kaleidoscope eyes taking up his fuzzy line of vision. There’s a voice yelling something, yelling his name, and it sounds like it’s through water, thick and distorted. Stiles blinks and Derek’s face comes to focus, but there’s something wrong with it. There’s gold glowing through his veins, making his skin translucent. Stiles reaches a hand down to touch at his wound but finds nothing but the ridged scar that it would have healed to. He looks up at Derek in confusion, but the man’s eyes are slowly turning back to liquid gold and Stiles feels the air get colder around him. 

As Derek’s neck cracks back inhumanly fast, Stiles feels a rush of adrenaline flow through his body. He won’t let anyone else die for him. 

Derek’s face turns to look at him again, but this time it’s Indrus pulling the strings. “You made it. How sweet. Guess I’ll have to finish you off permanently this time,” Derek’s voice is grating in Stiles’s ears but he manages to stand shakily. 

“You won’t be finishing me off, now or ever.” Stiles’s voice is somehow incredibly even, biting. He feels his body fill with power, that same power from all those months ago, and he holds his hand out to the god. The gold mist flies up out of Derek’s body, who immediately falls to the floor. Stiles directs his hand to face the mist and directs all his energy through it, and black lighting shoots from his palm, scattering the mist. “You made a mistake, coming here. I’m the protector of these lands and of the pack. By invading my land and possessing my wolf, you’ve given me more than enough reason to kill you.” Stiles tilts his head. “But I won’t. I don’t want to kill you. I think it’s better, really, if you live out your days knowing that a lowly _Spark_ bested you in battle. So go back to whence you came, and remember that the next time I won’t let you leave alive.” With his final words, Stiles mutters another incantation and shoots another jet of energy at the reforming mist, watching as it dissipates into the ether. 

The second it’s completely gone, Stiles collapses. His knees give out and he falls to the floor beside the barely-conscious Derek. It hurts to move, hurts to breathe. Still, though, somehow, he manages to reach over and grasp Derek’s hand. Their fingers intertwine and Stiles knows that it’s all going to be better. It’s all going to be better now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so so so so so so so so so so so sO sorry it took me this long i've just been absolutely swamped. Either way the next chapter will be a short epilogue/cleanup and i just want to say I'm so grateful for everyone who's supported me through this crazy ride of a fic.


	29. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S THE END YOU GUYS
> 
> thank you all so much for supporting me all this way, I just want to say that I love every single one of you guys and I wouldn't change a thing about how this story turned out. I'm so glad that I got to take this journey with you and I hope you guys all realise how special you are to me. I can tell you for a fact that I would have never have gotten this far without you. So, without further ado, the Epilogue.

“Derek, c’mon, I need you for this.” Stiles groaned as he tugged Derek towards the store. 

“Stiles, it’s a school dance. You really don’t need me anywhere near it.” 

“Exactly! It’s a school dance. You don’t really expect me to go at that shit alone right? I hear they’re even going to be checking the punch bowl for alcohol! Like what’s a party if there aren’t drunk people, am I right? Besides, I need you to help me pick out a tux, because Lydia is busy and you’re going to need a matching one.” They enter the tux place and are immediately accosted by the salesman wearing a vaguely puce-colored suit. 

“Fine, fine, but this is really not how I want to spend my Saturday.” Stiles grins, then leans in to kiss Derek softly. 

“I know it’s not. But you are, and that’s why I love you so much!” Stiles smiles and bounces off to look at a rack of god-awful ruffled shirts. 

 

***

 

Three weeks later they’re slow dancing to Time After Time and they decide to call it quits. 

 

***

 

Stiles’s suit stands out in the dark, bright cherry red contrasting against the shadows. He’s pressed against a tree with his hand down Derek’s pants and his mouth attached to Derek’s neck, needing to be _closer_ , to be _warmer_ , to be _loved_. 

 

***

 

It’s not the right thing to do, and they both know it. They just had a quickie against a tree in the woods behind the school and then a long make out session over the gear shift in Derek’s Camaro, but here they are nonetheless. The gate to the graveyard creaks as the enter it, their suit jackets unbuttoned and their shirts untucked. Stiles grasps Derek’s hand for strength as they make their way through the unyielding darkness to the all-too-familiar gravestones. 

 

***

 

They start with Derek’s family. 

 

***

 

Stiles tells his dad he’s in love. Derek tells his mom he’s found the man he wants to marry.

 

***

 

They leave the graveyard with their hands and their hearts intertwined. 

 

***

 

They fuck long and slow and tender on Derek’s bed that night, with Derek whispering inaudible “I love you”s and “you’re perfect”s into Stiles’s back and Stiles returning them in the form of dark lovebites on Derek’s chest. 

 

***

 

They aren’t perfect. They aren’t even good. But they’re pack and they’re home and they’re family and they’re love and that’s enough for them. 

**Author's Note:**

> fake-taylorswift.tumblr.com
> 
> OR
> 
> fxckingsterek.tumblr.com --- sterek fanart blog


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